At All Costs
by Red Hardy
Summary: Keith Rashman’s trial has begun. As Joe is forced to relive the horror in agonizing detail, Frank’s intense hatred grows daily. Will he find an outlet for his burning need for revenge or will it drive him to do the unthinkable?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hi there! First off, I am so sorry for the delay in getting this posted. I had it almost all ready to go and the flash drive I was using bit the dust. (Actually I accidentally bumped into it when it was sticking out of the computer and broke it. ARGH!) This was originally written about five years ago and I am trying to 'clean it up' a bit for posting here as I hope I've grown and improved as a writer in the intervening years! So I had to start from scratch with the 'cleaning up' part… hence the delay. Anyway…

This is a sequel to _Vanished. _I suppose it's not imperative that you read that story first but if you haven't read it, some things in this story may not make a whole lot of sense.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them. If I did I certainly wouldn't be working for a living.

oooOOOooo

**Chapter 1**

Twenty-three-year old Vanessa Bender attempted to stretch her long legs in the cramped space and succeeded only in hitting her shins on the seat in front of her. She glanced around the cabin of the aircraft growing more restless the closer they got to Chicago. Tucking a strand of ash-blonde hair behind her ear, she glanced down at her left hand, which was intertwined with the right hand of her twenty-four-year old fiancé. Handsome blonde-haired, blue-eyed Joe Hardy was staring out the window of the plane, lost in thought oblivious to the fact that Vanessa was watching him.

Thinking about the reason for their trip to Chicago, she wondered if Joe was really ready for it. Not that he had a choice. Six months earlier, on a previous trip to Chicago, he had accidentally stumbled onto a plot to assassinate the most powerful man in the Senate and very possibly, the President. That knowledge had led to his being kidnapped and tortured almost to death. Joe was now coming back to Chicago as the star witness in the trial against one of his assailants; a trial that had already started to take its toll on Joe, even before it had begun.

Shortly after they'd learned the exact date of the trial, the nightmares began. Infrequent at first, Vanessa hoped they'd stay that way but it was not to be. Getting progressively worse, it was now at the point where she knew Joe would awaken at least once or twice during the night in a cold sweat. Sometimes she could calm him down enough that he could fall asleep again, but more often than not Joe would simply lay awake for the rest of the night, too scared to close his eyes and have to relive the torture endlessly until he awoke in the morning.

Vanessa had also noticed Joe spending a lot more time alone, running along the beach, riding his motorcycle or simply sitting on the balcony of their apartment staring out into space. If she asked, Joe would assure her he was fine and simply needed the solitude to prepare himself for the trial. However, as he became quieter, subdued and withdrawn, Vanessa began to worry. When the smiles, jokes and wisecracks began to decrease at an alarming pace, she feared Joe was sinking into a severe depression. Knowing how dark his world had become when that happened earlier in the year, she called Joe's older brother, Frank.

Vanessa had no doubt Joe trusted her completely with his deepest feelings, but she had learned over the years there were some things he wouldn't discuss with anyone but Frank. Rather than feel hurt or slighted, Vanessa was just happy there was one person in whom Joe felt he could confide his darkest fears, even if he couldn't always bring himself to ask for that help when he needed it.

Watching Joe gaze out at the passing clouds, Vanessa was glad she had made that call to Frank, asking him to talk to Joe and try to draw him out. She knew if Joe wouldn't even talk to Frank about what he was going through, things were really as dark as she thought. While Joe was obviously still concerned about the upcoming trial and the effect it would have not only on him but his entire family, Vanessa did notice a change for the better. She also noticed Joe began to call Frank himself when he thought his imagination and emotions were starting to get the best of him.

Glancing across the aisle, Vanessa smiled at dark-haired Frank Hardy. With a slight nod, he returned the smile almost as if he could read her mind. Still, even with Frank's support and advice, Joe just wasn't himself and Vanessa knew he wouldn't be until the trial was over and Keith Rashman was permanently behind bars.

Loosely holding Joe's hand in hers, Vanessa recalled the argument they'd had just a few nights earlier. In the six years they had been together, it was the only real fight the two of them had ever had. Joe had had a bad day, after having gotten very little sleep the night before thanks to a seemingly endless cycle of nightmares. He had been short-tempered and snapping at her all day finally forbidding her to attend the trial, saying he did not wanting her subjected to the horrifying details of the abuse he had suffered. Vanessa, who could be just as stubborn as Joe at times and hadn't gotten much sleep herself having been awake worrying about Joe most of the night, had been adamant that she was going to be right by his side through it all, whether he liked it or not. The argument had escalated quickly. It culminated and then came to an abrupt halt when they had simultaneously yelled at each other,_ "You're so stubborn!"_

Vanessa smiled as she remembered how they laughed so hard they cried and the fight had been quickly forgotten. She suddenly felt her cheeks flush as she also remembered how they spent the rest of the night making up. Feeling Joe's eyes on her, she looked up and blushed even more when he squeezed her hand and winked at her, as if he knew exactly what she were thinking. Resting her head on his shoulder, they sat in silence for the remainder of the flight.

oooOOOooo

Checking the overhead bins one final time, Frank turned to look at his wife Callie, Vanessa and Joe standing in the aisle behind them. While it wouldn't be obvious to anyone else, Frank could see the change in Joe's demeanor since the plane landed. While waiting for the passengers ahead of them to slowly file out of the aircraft, Joe's eyes darted around nervously, scanning the faces of everyone in his line of sight almost as if he were looking for someone. Despite the fact that Keith Rashman was still securely locked away in jail, it was apparent that Joe did not feel entirely safe in this city, a chilling testimony to how much the brutal incident still haunted him.

The line of people finally started to move and Frank slowly led the way off the plane onto the jet bridge. As the Hardys entered the terminal, Frank looked around and quickly got his bearings, frowning in disgust. As luck would have it, in order to reach the baggage claim area they would have to walk right past the restroom Joe had been abducted from. He looked at his father, an older version of himself, who had obviously come to the same conclusion judging by the matching frown he wore. Instinctively, Frank and Fenton both glanced at Joe. By the look in his eyes, he too understood where the path to baggage claim would take them.

As Frank watched, puzzled, Fenton leaned down to his wife Laura, a slender petite woman with blonde hair and blue eyes who didn't look old enough to have two sons in their early twenties. He whispered something in her ear and she nodded her understanding. Silently getting Vanessa's attention, Laura motioned the younger girl to join her. Not sure what was going on but seeing that Joe was extremely agitated all ready, Vanessa obliged, moving to stand next to Laura. Immediately Fenton took her spot by Joe's side.

As understanding dawned on him, Frank dropped Callie's hand and gestured towards Vanessa as he moved to flank Joe on the other side. With a nod of agreement, slender, blonde haired Callie fell in step next to Vanessa as the small group began their trek through the terminal.

Frank and Fenton took the lead with Joe between them staying just close enough to subconsciously let him know he was well protected and not alone, no matter what his overactive imagination was telling him. Right behind them, Callie, Vanessa and Laura followed closely.

As they approached the restroom, Frank could sense the apprehension his brother was feeling coming through loud and clear. Throwing a furtive glance to his right, Frank saw Joe desperately trying to keep his eyes glued to the people in front of him, fighting a losing battle not to look at the place where his nightmare in hell had begun. Casually placing a hand on Joe's shoulder, Frank felt the tension there.

Almost as if a switch had been flipped, Joe's barely concealed anguish ignited the burning hatred and intense need for revenge Frank had been able to keep buried for months. Immediately he knew the bitterness had only festered and the revulsion he had for Rashman had grown immeasurably. They hadn't even made it out of the airport yet and already Frank could feel a white-hot anger raging inside him, directed squarely at the man who had nearly killed his brother. He sighed inwardly, giving Joe's shoulder a gentle squeeze, and finally acknowledged their stay in Chicago was going to be more trying than he had ever anticipated.

Picking up the pace a little, Fenton and Frank hurried Joe and the others past the restroom. As the image of Keith Rashman's face flashed through his mind, Frank could swear he felt his blood pressure rise and prayed to a higher power to give him the inner strength he would need to get both himself and his brother through the days ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to MissMe113, asnlfan101, Miss Fenway, Phx, whashaza, Helen and TraSan for the reviews, and thanks to those who have added this story to their alerts and/or favorites. Hope you all continue to enjoy it.

oooOOOooo

**Chapter 2**

Fenton Hardy slowed down as he began to pull the rented Lincoln Towne car into the circular driveway of the hotel. Laura and Callie, seated next to him in the front and Frank, Vanessa and Joe in the back, all gazed out at the towering hotel slightly awed. As the car came to a stop, uniformed doormen descended, opening the doors and helping the ladies from the car. As soon as the trunk opened, two bellhops appeared out of nowhere with a cart and began loading the luggage onto it.

Fenton turned to hand Frank the keys as he motioned to the entrance of the underground parking garage. "Can you park it in the garage while I get us checked in?"

"Sure, Dad," Frank replied, climbing into the drivers seat. Watching in the rearview mirror, he waited until the bags were unloaded and the trunk was closed and then pulled away.

As the group entered the hotel lobby, Callie, Vanessa and Joe couldn't help but look around and be impressed by the plush surroundings of the five-star hotel. Pointing to an area off the main lobby, Fenton suggested they wait for him there while he checked in and retrieved their room keys. Taking a seat on one of the overstuffed couches, Joe alternated between watching Callie, Vanessa and his mother wander around "oohing" and "ahhing", and wondering why his father had been escorted into the manager's office simply to check in.

oooOOOOoo

Fenton Hardy followed Pierre Tableau, the hotel's general manager, into his office and took a seat as the man shut the door behind them. Tableau, a man in his fifties with elegant gray hair and striking blue eyes, was dressed in an obviously expensive, impeccably tailored suit with silk tie and matching handkerchief in the breast pocket. Taking a seat behind his desk, he typed on the keyboard as he spoke to Fenton, pulling up the Hardys reservation.

"I understand your stay in Chicago will be trying, Mr. Hardy, and we will do everything possible to help alleviate the strain your family will be under," the man said tactfully.

"Thank you, Mr. Tableau. I appreciate that."

The trial of Keith Rashman had gotten extensive press coverage, becoming the hottest topic in Chicago and was expected to garner unprecedented media interest. In the hopes of providing privacy and some kind of sanctuary for his family, particularly Joe, after the trial each day, Fenton had rented the Penthouse suite in what was considered the best hotel in Chicago. Once they returned to the hotel at night, the Hardys need not leave the suite at all unless they chose to. Everything would be provided for them, including a small private gym for use only by guests of the Penthouse suite. With the suite taking up the entire top floor of the hotel, Fenton hoped the isolation from the public and breathtaking views of the city would serve as a tranquil haven where they could all take refuge.

"I've made all the arrangements you requested when we last spoke. Your family will have the Penthouse Suite and will be isolated on the top floor of the hotel. Only my most experienced and trusted staff will be attending to your needs. My assistant, Gregory Koppenhaver, or myself will be available to you at all times. Please don't hesitate to call on one of us if there is a problem or anything that doesn't meet your expectations.

"Since you expect any calls from family or friends to be coming through on your cell phones, all calls coming in for you through the hotel's switchboard will be routed to my private line. Messages will be taken and delivered to you daily. No calls coming through our switchboard will be put through to your suite." Opening a drawer, Tableau pulled out an envelope and handed it to Fenton.

"There are six keycards in here. The Penthouse suite can only be accessed by private elevator. That elevator can only be activated with one of these keycards, which limits access to that floor to the guests and select staff. Only your family, Mr. Koppenhaver and myself have these cards. The staff that will be looking after you will come to Mr. Koppenhaver or myself for a keycard whenever they need access to the suite to clean or respond to your needs. It is impossible for anyone to gain access to that floor without one of these cards. Is there anything else you need at this time?"

"No thank you. It sounds as if you've covered everything. If you don't mind, I would like you or your assistant to give my older son and I a tour of parking garage a little later on. We'd like to have an alternate exit or two we can use should it become unwise to use the main entrance. I'm sure once the trial starts the media will be ruthless and I know there is only so much you can do to keep them at bay if they are on public property."

"Of course. Just let me know when you and your son are ready and I will personally escort you through the garage and any other areas of the hotel that you would like to see."

"Thank you," Fenton said, as he stood up.

"I'm happy to do anything to make your family's stay in Chicago a little easier. If you're ready, I'll escort you up to the suite," Tableau offered motioning towards the door.

Returning to the lobby, Fenton saw Frank had rejoined the group as he and Tableau approached them. Simply telling them that their rooms were ready, he indicated they should follow Pierre Tableau as he took up the rear.

"Dad's got something up his sleeve," Joe whispered to his older brother as they walked across the ornately decorated lobby towards the elevators. "Since when do you need to meet the with manager to check in."

"I think you're right, but whatever it is, he's kept it to himself." Frank grew more curious as they passed the main elevators and continued on to a separate elevator in a small alcove a little further away.

Looking up at the monitor above the doors, he noticed this one bypassed all the other floors, having only the letters 'L' and 'P' on the display. He noted there was no button to call the elevator and watched as Tableau inserted a keycard into a slot by the door. Immediately the doors opened revealing an interior that was just as classy and ornate as the lobby had been.

Standing aside, Frank waited until Laura, Callie, Vanessa and Joe had gotten on and then followed them. He caught his father's eye once and raised an eyebrow in silent question, but Fenton only responded with a Cheshire cat smile.

Once inside, Tableau inserted the keycard into another slot marked with a 'P'. The doors closed and the elevator rose smoothly and quickly, making no stops until it had reached its destination. With a soft _ding,_ the doors opened and everyone stepped off into a thickly carpeted hallway decorated with antique paintings, tables and chairs. Glancing at his mother, Frank decided she had been in on whatever his father had planned. While he, Callie, Joe and Vanessa took in everything with stunned surprise, Laura simply smiled and slid her hand into her husband's grasp.

They followed the manager halfway down the hall where he came to a stop at a set of heavy, dark oak double doors. Once again using the keycard, he unlocked the doors and swung them open with a flourish. What followed was a guided tour of the luxurious and elegant suite. The floor to ceiling windows in virtually every room boasted a stunning view of downtown Chicago on one side and the breathtaking sight of Lake Michigan on the other.

The main living room had a large entertainment center, with wide screen TV, and the most up to date video game console. A large selection of DVD's, game cartridges and CD's were available for use. Each of the four bedrooms had it's own private balcony, large private bath with Jacuzzi and dressing area, a king size bed and sitting area complete with desk and laptop computer.

The large dining room, that looked out over the city, contained a table that could comfortably seat ten. The fully equipped kitchen gave guests the option of preparing their own meals should they not want to leave the suite or be bothered by room service. At the other end of the suite stood the library and sunroom. A small, fully equipped private gym was just down the hall from the suite.

Once the tour was concluded and Pierre Tableau had bid the family goodbye, everyone scattered to more thoroughly check out all the amenities. As Joe began to follow Vanessa, Fenton called him back. Sitting on the couch next to his father, Joe became a little overwhelmed, knowing full well why his father went to the enormous expense of procuring this private suite.

"Joe, I know this trial is going to be difficult for you at best. I wanted to make sure you had somewhere to come back to that would hopefully offer you a little peace of mind. We've got everything we need right here so if you never want to leave this suite except to attend the trial, you don't have to."

Joe stared at his father, a little lost for words. "I don't know what to say, Dad. Thank you doesn't really seem like enough."

"You don't need to thank me. I honestly can't imagine how hard it's going to be for you and anything I can do to make it a little easier, well, I'm more than happy to do."

Joe smiled and nodded at his father, unable to speak over the lump in his throat.

"And you know if you need to talk…about _anything_…I'm here. So is Frank. Please don't try and keep everything inside. It's okay to be nervous. And scared. Just remember you're not alone. Okay?" Fenton reached out and squeezed Joe's shoulder.

"I'll remember," Joe promised.

"Good. Let's go join the others and see just what kind of goodies this place really has," Fenton smiled. As Joe smiled back at him, Fenton hoped it wouldn't be the last one he would see for the foreseeable future.

oooOOOooo

An hour later, Frank, Joe and Fenton were seated in the office of District Attorney Peter Handling, a man in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair and intense blue-gray eyes. Although several Federal Prosecutors were assisting him, Handling would be the lead attorney on the case. With the opportunity to make a large dent in the most violent and notorious organized crime family in Chicago, the Federal and state agencies quickly agreed to work together in the hopes it would increase the odds of getting a guilty verdict. Keith Rashman was the main reason no one ever challenged the authority of this syndicate, who ruled Chicago's underworld without question. If they could get him behind bars permanently, it would be a giant first step in bringing down the entire organization.

Sitting around the large conference table, Frank stayed close to his younger brother keeping a close eye on him. As Handling reviewed the details of the trial, the witnesses that would be called and the questions they would be asked, Frank could see Joe retreating further and further into himself. It was common knowledge that defense attorney Matthew Barning intended to try and prove Rashman was temporarily insane at the time he abducted Joe, however the details as to how he would accomplish that had been heavily guarded.

"I have no idea what specific tactics he's going to use," Handling explained, as he turned to look directly at Joe. "My guess is rather than trying to attack you or your testimony, he'll try just the opposite. He'll probably come across as very sympathetic and concerned for you. He won't want the jury to see him or Rashman as 'the bad guy'. No matter what he says or does, Joe, try and remain neutral at all times. If you get angry with him that could push the jury towards him out of sympathy. If you show any indication that you even remotely accept whatever concern he shows for you, the jury may think that _you_ believe him so it would be okay for _them_ to believe him."

Joe nodded his understanding hoping he could do what the D.A. was asking of him. At that very moment, his heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach was tied up in knots at the thought of coming face to face with Keith Rashman again. Yet he appeared outwardly calm and in complete control, at least to Handling.

"I'm going to ask you to describe every single thing Rashman did to you in graphic detail in order to get the jury's sympathy and keep it. The judge is allowing all of the photographs Rashman took to be entered into evidence and I'm going to ask you to walk the jury through all of them. I'll be honest with you, Joe. It's going to be hel." Handling watched Joe's reactions carefully.

"I'm ready," Joe said simply, his voice neutral.

Exchanging a glance with his father, Frank could see Fenton was just as worried as he was. Joe was an expert at hiding his feelings from strangers, but he had never been able to fool his family. And at that moment, they knew Joe was walking a tightrope and trying desperately not to fall off.

Joe was worried about the effect his testimony would have on Laura and Vanessa, his own reaction to having to face Keith Rashman again and the uncertainty of whether he really could get through a graphic accounting of every detail of the torture and abuse he'd spent the last six months trying to forget without losing his sanity. Should any one of those things be knocked out of its delicate balance, it could easily push Joe off that tightrope and into a world of fear and depression he might not be able to escape from.

Joe had completely recovered from the physical injuries that had been inflicted on him by Keith Rashman, but the psychological and emotional wounds had yet to heal. As Frank watched his younger brother assure the D.A. he could handle anything that came up, Frank hoped that by the end of this trial those deeply painful injuries would be one step closer to a full recovery.


	3. Chapter 3

Miss Fenway, TraSan, MissMe113, Tiger Lily Roar and Phx – thanks so much for the reviews. Hope you continue to enjoy the story. :-)

oooOOOooo

**Chapter 3**

Frank lay in bed wide-awake, worry for his younger brother making it impossible for him to sleep. Everyone had noticed a drastic change in Joe in the weeks leading up to the trial as he became quiet, subdued and withdrawn.

'_Who can blame him?'_ Frank thought, bitterly.

After the final meeting with the D.A. that afternoon, Joe had barely spoken a word. He had picked at his dinner, eating almost nothing, and gone to bed early, although Frank was certain he hadn't slept a wink. As if in confirmation of that thought, Frank heard soft footsteps as someone passed by the closed door of the bedroom. It had to be Joe. Frank waited several minutes, then carefully climbed out of bed so as not to disturb Callie.

Making his way down the hall to the living room, Frank stopped and stared, his heart aching. Joe was sitting in the dark, staring out at the breathtaking view of Chicago afforded by the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse suite. He couldn't even imagine what was going through his brother's mind at that moment. Was he reliving the agonizing torture he had endured, letting Keith Rashman control his every thought and emotion? Or was he trying to forget for just a few hours, focusing instead on the beauty that lay before him? Knowing his brother the way he did, Frank was certain it was the former and hoped he could do something to alleviate Joe's fears even if only for a moment.

"Joe?" Frank said quietly. He winced as Joe jumped, obviously so lost in thought he hadn't heard Frank walk into the room.

Joe glanced over his shoulder at Frank. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No, I couldn't sleep." Frank pulled up a chair to sit beside Joe.

Joe turned back to the view that lay before him. "Seems to be going around."

Frank sat in silence, studying his brother, frustrated. He couldn't quite make out the look on Joe's face. It wasn't fear, or anguish. Resignation? Had Joe given up on the outcome of the trial before it even started? In a fleeting moment of insanity, Frank wondered if it would be possible to kill Keith Rashman before the morning dawned.

Ever since Frank's birthday four months earlier, Joe had been steadily improving, reverting back to the "real" Joe Hardy. Each day it seemed Joe was a little happier, a little more carefree, smiling, joking, laughing…

'_Just like he used to be.'_

There had been a slight "blip" in Joe's attitude when the Hardys found out Dennis Malick had been killed in prison, apparently an orchestrated hit by the very same organized crime family he'd worked for, although it would probably never be proven. Joe had become withdrawn that week too, when they found out why Malick had been killed. It was a long shot that a jury would find both Malick _and_ Rashman not guilty by reason of insanity and Rashman was much more valuable to the organization than Malick could ever hope to be.

Rumor had it that Malick had been ready to cut a deal, knowing he'd be sacrificed on the stand to save Rashman. He had met with the D.A. a few times, hoping to bargain for his life. He'd been willing to testify against Rashman, if all the charges against him were dropped and he'd be put in the Witness Protection Program. That, combined with the airport security video tape, witness statements from people who saw Joe being abducted, Frank and Fenton's testimony and especially Joe's testimony, it would all but ensure a guilty verdict.

The D.A. had called Joe, to tell him of Malick's offer and see how Joe would feel if they accepted it. Malick would get off, although he'd have to give up all ties to his former life, but it would save Joe days of mental anguish on the stand under cross examination. Joe had spent many hours discussing it with both Frank and Fenton, torn between justice and his own mental and emotional stability, knowing the toll testifying was going to take on him – and his family. It was very late one night when he finally decided it would probably be best for everyone involved if they accepted Malick's offer.

Very early the next morning, Fenton had gotten a call from the D.A. Malick had been killed the previous evening, ostensibly in a prison riot, although the word behind prison walls was it had been a very carefully timed hit. Apparently, the organization knew of Malick's plans and brought them to a screeching halt. The fact that Rashman was not even in the prison at the time, having been taken to a local hospital under heavy security, after complaining of excruciating abdominal pain, would make it even harder to prove the circumstances surrounding Malick's death.

Joe had become a little depressed in the days that followed, having to adjust, yet again, to his life being turned upside down. However, since he and Frank had mended their once-strained relationship, Joe quickly turned to his brother for help and Frank didn't let him down. After several difficult and emotionally draining talks with his brother, and Frank's uncanny ability to make Joe feel secure no matter how bad things looked, Joe had seemed to snap out of his despair. Each day brought a few more smiles, one or two more jokes and an ever increasing stream of wisecracks and it appeared that Joe had risen above the storm yet again.

Until the day Fenton had gotten the call from Carlos Sanchez three weeks ago. Keith Rashman's trial date had been set. With Malick out of the way, the defense suddenly wanted a speedy trial, and the swiftness with which everything had fallen into place to make that happen had sent Joe into a tailspin. Frank hoped he could get his brother back on an even keel, but this time it seemed no matter what Frank tried or did, nothing was working. Each day he became more upset and irritated with himself for not being able to pull Joe out of his ever-increasing depression, although he never stopped trying. And tonight would be no exception.

Opening arguments were set for eight o'clock the following morning and Frank knew they would be difficult at best. Even though Joe was scheduled as the last witness to be called, he'd have to sit in the courtroom each day and listen to the testimony of all the other people involved.

Frank knew it was a calculated move, waiting until the very end of the trial to have Joe testify, as it would leave the greatest impact on the jury. But he also knew the longer Joe had to wait, the longer he had to sit and listen to everyone else describe their perception of his ordeal, the worse he would get. There was no doubt in Frank's mind that when it came time for Joe to testify, he would have tied himself up in so many knots he might not know which way was up. Anything Frank could do to stave that off, no matter how small, would help.

"Talk to me, Joe. What are you thinking?"

Joe gave a bitter little smile and shook his head. "Trust me, Frank, you don't want to know. It'll shoot your little _'Think positive! Keep your chin up, Joe.'_ speech all to hell."

Frank flinched, hoping Joe didn't notice_. 'Apparently I've become too predictable.'_ He sighed inwardly, making some last minute adjustments to the positive thinking speech that had indeed been on the tip of his tongue.

"Okay, I won't give you my happy little sermon. How about just some facts instead?"

The bitter smile reappeared and disappeared just as quickly, but Joe remained silent.

"There's an overwhelming amount of evidence, Joe. And witnesses that can prove Rashman was well aware of what he was doing from the minute he followed you into the restroom. And this D.A. is good. Really good."

Joe looked down at his hands, hating himself. He knew Frank was just trying to help and, for that, he loved his brother more than Frank would ever know. But Joe knew all the pretty words wouldn't work this time. He smiled again, this time with no bitterness, just an aching sadness that broke Frank's heart.

"I'm just being realistic, Frank. The odds are in their favor. Especially with Malick dead."

Frank fought back the panic that was trying to ignite. "How can you say that, Joe? Are you giving up before the trial even starts?"

Joe had never been a quitter, not even when Rashman came dangerously close to breaking him, mentally and emotionally. There were a few times Frank was afraid Rashman might have succeeded but Joe always pulled himself together somehow, never letting Rashman win. How could he give up now when they were so close to bringing this whole horrible ordeal to an end?

"I wanted to know what I was up against, so I did my homework." The bitter smile returned for a brief second and then disappeared, replaced with the sadness that had taken over Joe's life. "I almost wish I hadn't."

Joe leaned forward, something on the streets below having caught his eye. He watched for a moment before settling back in the chair again. "Barning is the best defense lawyer in Chicago. One of the top ten in the entire country," Joe said, gazing at the lights in the distance. "He's the one other lawyers would go to if they were in trouble."

'_Joe investigated Barning? On his own?'_ Frank was shocked.

"Do you know what Barning's track record is?" Joe's voice broke into Frank's thoughts. "How good he is?"

Frank shook his head no, feeling a little foolish that Joe had thought to check this out and he hadn't.

"Ninety-eight percent," Joe answered his own question, sounding almost defeated. "He's won ninety-eight percent of his cases. That's unheard of."

"Still, Joe…" Frank began. He recalled reading all the information the D.A. and Sanchez had sent. The case against Rashman was strong. He had to make Joe see they had a good chance of winning.

Joe hadn't even heard his brother begin speaking, now drowning in the outcome he knew was inevitable. "When the jury hears the details, sees those pictures…they'll never want to believe a sane person could do that. They'll be happy to let Barning convince them Rashman had no idea what he was doing." Joe turned to Frank, looking much older than he should. "Go to bed, Frank."

"Joe…"

"Goodnight, Frank." Joe gave his brother one last sad smile then got up and walked to the window, his back to Frank.

'_He's shutting me out.'_ Frank bit his bottom lip, hoping to distract himself from the pain in his soul. Knowing he had no magic words this time, Frank got up and went back to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to josie, Phx, Miss Fenway and Helen for the reviews. :-)

**Chapter 4**

Joe sat in the first row of seats behind the prosecution table with Frank on his left and Vanessa on his right. He had almost been grateful when morning finally came and with it, the opening day of the trial. Sleep hadn't come easy for Joe and when it did, his dreams were haunted by images of Keith Rashman as he relived the painful torture all over again. He had been awake for hours when the alarm finally went off and he realized Vanessa had been too, as she simply opened her eyes and stared at him with concern.

The nerves Joe had been fighting all morning seemed to be winning the battle. Knowing he would have to look Keith Rashman in the eye in just a few hours had been more than enough to kill his appetite and set him on edge. During the ride to the courthouse, Joe had repeatedly reminded himself he did not have to face his worst nightmare alone, taking comfort in being surrounded by his family.

As if to confirm that fact, he turned and gazed at Vanessa. Feeling Joe looking at her, Vanessa squeezed his hand and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. As always the gesture worked like magic and Joe felt himself relax just a little bit. Turning to his left, Joe looked at his older brother who for the past several months had been the anchor that kept Joe from drifting too far away and possibly drowning in his own fears. As Frank stared at the closed door in the right corner of the courtroom, he moved his hand slightly and patted Joe on the knee.

'_I'm here, Bro. We're in this together.'_

At that moment, the door Frank had been watching so intently suddenly opened. An armed guard walked out and before Joe realized what was happening Keith Rashman was there in the courtroom, even bigger and more muscular than he had been six months ago. A bitterness rose in Joe's throat as he thought of Keith Rashman having the luxury of working out in the prison gymnasium every day, increasing his already impressive size and strength, while Joe had spent several painful months struggling just to regain what he had lost due to the injuries Rashman had inflicted on him.

Slowly walking to his chair at the defense table, Rashman appeared to be scanning the faces in the packed courtroom, his eyes finally landing on Fenton Hardy. After shooting a venomous look at the man who had sent his older brother to prison for the rest of his life, Rashman then turned his gaze on Frank, glaring daggers at him. Unflinching, Frank returned the look tenfold.

Moving his eyes once again, Rashman momentarily stopped and stared at Joe. After a helpful nudge from one of the guards, Rashman continued moving, never taking his eyes off Joe.

When Rashman had finally found him in the crowd of people, Joe outwardly appeared unfazed by the hatred in his eyes. However, inside Joe was suddenly transported back to that barren, desolate camp in the wilderness. The image of Keith Rashman's face seemed to be only inches from his own and blazing with anger.

_"I __will__ break you, Hardy, if it's the last thing I do."_

Joe felt a chill run through him just as it had the first time he'd heard those words. The fear he'd felt that day came back full force and Joe was sure he was back in that awful place, chained to the fence about to feel the unbearable pain of salt hitting open wounds when Vanessa squeezed his hand tightly. That was all it took to bring him back to the present and the security of being surrounded by people who loved him.

Joe stared back at Rashman never blinking and refusing to look away, knowing that was exactly what Rashman wanted. The battle of wills continued even as Rashman took a seat next to his attorney, Matthew Barning. Only when Barning put a hand on Rashman's shoulder and spoke to him did he finally look away, turning to face the front of the room.

Joe sank back into the chair feeling a small sense of triumph. He'd made it over the first hurdle, facing Keith Rashman without letting his fears get the better of him. Even though the worst was still ahead, Joe allowed himself a tiny smile at his victory and then began to prepare for the battles that still lie ahead.

oooOOOooo

With the jury seated, the judge behind his desk and the official opening of the trial completed, District Attorney Peter Handling stood and walked purposefully to the front of the courtroom. Turning to face the jury, he confidently began his opening argument.

"Six months ago, while waiting to board a flight at O'Hare Airport, a visitor to our city inadvertently stumbled across some information that threatened the life of not only the most powerful man in the United States Senate, but the President himself – a planned assassination of both men orchestrated by one of the most feared and powerful organized crime syndicates in the country.

"This visitor could have ignored the information, pretended he had never seen it, refused to get involved, but he didn't. In fact, those thoughts never once entered his mind. Unlike the vast majority of people these days who would simply walk away and forget what they had seen, this man chose to get involved. He chose to do the right thing. It was the only thing he knew how to do. And it almost cost him his life."

Sitting as close to his brother as possible, Frank knew Joe had flinched, trying hard to hide it. Joe wanted to appear strong and confident, yet Frank knew how anxious and unsure he was. Imperceptibly, Frank pressed his leg up against his brother's, offering what he hoped was the emotional support Joe so obviously needed. Out of the corner of his eye, Frank saw Joe nod his head slightly letting Frank know the message was received – and appreciated.

"This visitor never thought about the consequences of getting involved or the price he would pay for doing what he knew was morally and ethically right," Handling continued. "Over the next several days, you will learn how this young man initially hoped to get the information to the proper authorities, thus preventing two murders. You will learn how that plan rapidly fell apart yet the young man didn't give up. Thinking quickly, he hid the information and placed a phone call to the one person he knew he could trust – his older brother, one thousand miles away. Leaving a message with the location of the information, the young man attempted to return to the gate and board his flight home, only to be stopped by this man." Handling turned and pointed at Keith Rashman, stopping for effect. He waited, letting the jury get a good look at Rashman before continuing.

"You are going to hear how the defendant, Keith Rashman, abducted the Good Samaritan, Joseph Hardy, and drove him to an isolated, desolate, uninhabited area where he proceeded to torture Joe Hardy for almost twenty-four hours straight. This young man was subjected to unthinkable acts of brutality at the hands of Mr. Rashman in an effort to get him to reveal what he'd done with the information that had come into his possession.

"You will be asked to listen to the graphic details of each atrocity, and there were many. You will be asked to view photographs that will very possibly leave you with nightmares for some time to come. You will be asked to listen as the young man tells you, in his own words, the hell he was forced to endure simply because he chose to do the right thing. And you will learn how close he came to losing his life by refusing to waver on that choice."

Peter Handling openly stared at Keith Rashman, who had been listening to his every word with keen interest.

"As evidenced by his response to the charges lodged against him, Keith Rashman has entered a plea of not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. Mr. Rashman wants us to believe he was not able to discern between right and wrong and therefore should not be held responsible for what he did to Joe Hardy during that twenty-four hour period.

"However, as you will come to learn through physical evidence, eyewitness testimony and Joe Hardy's own recollection of what happened that night, Keith Rashman was in complete control of his faculties. He willingly engaged in heinous acts of torture with planning and forethought, taking pride in his methodical progression of abuse, using whatever means necessary to reach his goal. This was Mr. Rashman's job and he was good at it. Very good. In fact, he was considered the best in his field - not an honor that is bestowed on the insane, temporary or otherwise.

"By the time we have reached closing arguments, you will believe beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Keith Rashman is and was a sane, rational human being, who willingly and methodically tortured Joe Hardy almost to death. You will hold him accountable for his actions knowing in your hearts he is guilty of the senseless, inhuman suffering he purposefully and systematically inflicted on an innocent young man who simply tried to do the right thing. He must pay for what he did. Only you, ladies and gentlemen, can deliver that message."

oooOOOooo

Sitting between Joe and Laura clutching their hands in hers, Vanessa found it increasingly difficult to listen to the impassioned plea Peter Handling was making to the jury. To those twelve people, Joe was a stranger who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. They took in the words with a detached air, simply collecting information to be filed away and used at a later date.

They had no idea what it was like for her, Laura, or Frank, during those twenty-four hours wondering if Joe were dead or alive, having no idea where he was or what was happening to him. They didn't sit by his bedside in the hospital, watching the machines that kept him alive, praying each day that he would wake up. They didn't have to sit by helplessly, watching him suffer day after day, fighting to recover. They didn't see the fear in his eyes or hear him wake up screaming in the night for months afterwards, as Keith Rashman haunted his dreams.

Vanessa was suddenly gripped by a fear that the facts, no matter how graphic, wouldn't be enough to convince the jury how much Joe had truly suffered and how the memories of it still tormented him to this day. She finally understood Joe's fear that when all was said and done, Keith Rashman would be a free man. She tried to banish that terrifying thought, only to have it come back even stronger, as Matthew Barning began to speak to the jury.

"Six months ago, the defendant, Keith Rashman, did abduct Joseph Hardy from O'Hare Airport against his will. Over the next twenty-four hours, Keith Rashman did torture Joseph Hardy mercilessly. As Mr. Handling said, you will hear the details. You will see the pictures. You will be shocked. Appalled. You will find it incomprehensible that one human being could inflict such pain and suffering on another.

"Any sane, rational person would agree with you. Any sane, rational person couldn't possibly have committed such heinous acts. So how could this have happened? It happened because at that time Keith Rashman was not a sane, rational person.

"Over the next several days, you will learn what drove Mr. Rashman past the point of reason, to the darkness that clouded his judgment and led him to believe he was justified in torturing Joseph Hardy almost to death. You will come to see that Mr. Rashman was not of sound mind when he committed these unthinkable, unspeakable acts of horror against Mr. Hardy. You will come to understand that – temporarily – he truly was insane. And you will come to believe, given that state of mind, he cannot possibly be held accountable for his actions. It is the only logical explanation."

As he felt Joe tremble slightly, Frank used every ounce of self-control he possessed not to let the overwhelming rage he was feeling show on his face. Suddenly all those talks he'd had with Joe over the past few months where Joe described in graphic detail what Rashman had done to him, came rushing back. He could hear the pain in Joe's voice and vividly saw the scared little boy his brother would become when it all became too much for him. Frank kept his eyes glued on the D.A.'s back, forcing himself not to look at Keith Rashman, not even a passing glance. If he saw the face of the man he hated so passionately, Frank wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from committing murder in front of a packed courtroom.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you MissMe113, josie, Helen, Miss Fenway, whashaza, catti-dono and Polaris for the reviews. :-)

**Chapter 5**

As Laura Hardy listened to the two attorneys describe the inhumane torture that had been inflicted on her child, each trying to use it to their own advantage, conflicting emotions churned within her. Intense grief and an aching sadness that her son had suffered so horribly were at war with the unconcealed rage she felt for the man who had caused it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fenton saw his wife stare at Keith Rashman so intently with a hatred so strong he feared he might actually have to physically restrain her from attacking the man right there in the courtroom. It suddenly occurred to Fenton that should Rashman be found guilty – no, he corrected himself, _when_ Rashman was found guilty – the ideal punishment would be to lock him in a room for five minutes with an enraged Laura Hardy.

'_There probably wouldn't be enough of him left to fill a Dixie cup,'_ Fenton thought letting the warped fantasy bring him a few seconds of satisfaction.

Seeing Laura shift in her seat, he glanced at her and smiled inwardly. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible Laura was leaning forward trying to see around Vanessa, who was seated next to Joe. Laura's maternal instinct told her to seek out her son and satisfy herself that he was all right.

Listening to both the prosecution and defense attorney's blithely discussing Joe's abduction and abuse with no apparent regard for how it was affecting him had lit a fuse inside Laura. Struggling to maintain her outwardly calm façade, Laura fought the urge to stand up and address the jury herself. The law of averages said most of the jurors were probably parents themselves. If she could simply tell them about Joe's ordeal from a mother's perspective, she was certain the trial would be over in minutes with a unanimous guilty verdict. She would then be content to let any parent on the jury dole out the punishment, which she knew would be swift, painful and permanent.

Finally able to steal a glance at Joe, she knew that to a stranger he appeared calm and at ease. Laura, however, could easily see the anxiety and uncertainty that had been plaguing him for weeks now growing stronger, bringing home the harsh reality that many times life simply wasn't fair. Laura ignored the unrealistic urge to protectively watch Joe's every move and forced herself to return her attention to the front of the courtroom. If she continued to stare at Joe who was so far able to maintain the tenuous grip on his composure, she would eventually give in to a mother's primal instinct to grab her child and flee, putting as much distance as possible between him and those who were causing him so much pain.

Focusing on the young woman who was now seated on the witness stand, Laura listened as Peter Handling asked the woman her name and occupation. Tess Maguire, an attractive girl in her early twenties with red hair and green eyes, worked at the foreign currency exchange kiosk that was located across from the restroom Joe had been abducted from. As she responded to the D.A.'s questions, Tess would glance at Joe from time to time with a tentative smile.

Initially, Handling simply asked Tess to relate what she saw that night. Blushing slightly, Tess shyly admitted she had noticed Joe in the lounge area, talking on a cell phone. Not having any customers at the time, she had furtively watched him restlessly pacing back and forth, as he talked. After concluding the call, she had seen Joe approach the gate agent and speak to her briefly. Tess then watched Joe walk towards the restroom, passing directly in front of her and disappear into the restroom just as a customer approached her.

Now resuming a more structured line of questioning, Handling asked Tess what she saw after the customer had left. Tess admitted she made a visual sweep of the lounge area, noting Joe's absence and quickly resumed her surveillance of the restroom hoping to get another glimpse of Joe when he came out. When Handling asked if she did indeed see Joe again when he emerged from the restroom, Tess' entire demeanor changed.

With her voice shaking slightly, Tess replied that as she watched, two men emerged from the restroom supporting Joe between them. Seeing that Joe appeared to be unconscious and knowing the men had not been in the lounge area with Joe earlier, she became alarmed. Tess had confronted the men, asking if Joe was all right and offering her assistance. The larger of the two men told her they were with airport security, working undercover. He went on to say that Joe was a drug courier they had been tracking for months, further explaining that when they confronted Joe in the restroom and attempted to take him into custody, he tried to escape leaving them with no choice but to use 'necessary force' to subdue him.

As Tess concluded her response, Handling waited a moment before he resumed the questioning, wanting Tess' words to sink in with the jury. He hoped that having already established Joe's occupation and the purpose for his visit to Chicago that day would make Rashman's lie that much more damaging. Standing in front of the prosecution's table, Handling turned to look at Tess.

"Ms. Maguire, are either of the two men you saw with Joe Hardy that night in this courtroom?"

"Yes," Tess replied nervously.

"Can you point him out, please."

With a shaking hand, she pointed directly at Keith Rashman without hesitation. "The man sitting at that table."

"Please let the record show that Ms. Maguire has identified the defendant, Keith Rashman." The D.A. walked towards the witness stand, stopping in front of Tess. "Ms. Maguire, how long have you worked at O'Hare Airport?"

"Almost five years."

"Would it be reasonable to say that you interact with airport security personnel on a daily basis, given that you work at a currency exchange?"

"Oh, yes. The security staff makes regularly scheduled stops at all our kiosks throughout the day and escorts us back and forth to the vault when we are opening or closing up for the day."

"So it would be safe to say you know most of the security personnel on sight."

"Yes."

"And had you ever seen Mr. Rashman prior to that evening?"

"No."

"How did Mr. Rashman react to your offer of help?" Handling now turned to look at the jury.

"He seemed annoyed that I was bothering them, like he was in a big hurry to get out of there."

"Rather odd behavior from someone purporting to be an undercover security officer who has just captured a suspect he'd supposedly been trailing for months," he pointed out to the jury. "No further questions, Your Honor."

After Matthew Barning declined to cross examine Tess at that time, she stepped down from the witness stand and walked across the front of the courtroom towards the gate leading back to the seating area. Slowing down slightly, Tess caught Joe's attention and smiled at him who returned it with one of his own. Glancing at Vanessa who was seated so very close to Joe and holding tightly to his hand, Tess felt a pang of envy. Forcing herself to look away, Tess noticed the woman seated next to Vanessa bore a striking resemblance to Joe and realized it had to be his mother.

Watching as Tess passed in front of them, Laura smiled gratefully at her and mouthed a silent thank you, hoping she would get the opportunity to properly thank the girl for attempting to come to Joe's aid. Tess smiled warmly in acknowledgement before returning to her seat at the back of the courtroom.

Peter Handling then called two more airport employees to the stand – a bookstore clerk and a grounds crew worker for one of the airlines. Both related eerily similar stories to Tess', saying they too had stopped Keith Rashman, concerned that Joe was in trouble. Having gotten the same story simply cemented the fact that Rashman had lied at least three times to cover up the fact that Joe was indeed his unwilling, and unconscious, captive.

Hearing three different people describe their efforts to help him somehow made Joe feel a little better. They may not have been successful but the simple fact that they were willing to get involved and help a total stranger who appeared to be in trouble reminded him there were still more good people in the world than bad.

Joe watched as a man in his mid-thirties, with light brown hair and a slightly receding hairline took the stand. After being sworn in, he responded to the requisite questions of name and occupation. For the last seven years, Gary Millard had worked as a security guard at O'Hare Airport.

"Mr. Millard, while you were making your rounds of the terminal on the night in question, at any time did you encounter either Keith Rashman or Joseph Hardy?" Handling asked.

"Yes, I did," Millard replied, his eyes automatically seeking out first Rashman and then Joe.

"Can you please describe that encounter?"

"I came on duty at four o'clock that afternoon. During my second sweep of my assigned terminal, I observed two men who appeared to be supporting a third man between them heading in the direction of baggage claim and the exit. As they got closer, I could see the man between them was unconscious so I stopped them.

"Mr. Rashman said he and his partners had accompanied a new client to the airport to see him off. They had just signed a new deal and decided to wait with their client in a bar at the lounge to celebrate. He indicated his partner, Mr. Hardy, had gotten drunk and passed out. I offered to call a cart to take them to our First Aid center but he declined. Said it would be easier to just drive Mr. Hardy home and let him sleep it off."

"Mr. Rashman specifically referred to Mr. Hardy as his partner?" Handling asked for clarification. "And said he was going to drive him home?"

"Yes, sir, he did," Millard confirmed.

Under Handling's careful questioning, Millard repeated word for word the story Rashman had told him revealing Rashman had lied yet again, playing up his ability to do so at the drop of a hat but still in great detail. As Millard returned to his seat the district attorney focused in on that revelation, wanting it to be seared into the juror's memory's.

"A total of four people have now testified to the lies they were told by Mr. Rashman when they attempted to intervene on Mr. Hardy's behalf. Lies that he created on the spur of the moment. They were intricate, detailed and most of all believable. And they allowed him to escape into the night with his captive. Most importantly, these are lies that a man who was insane – temporarily or permanently – would never be able to construct."

Seated next to Frank, Callie could almost feel the anger coming off her husband in waves. The moment Rashman had walked into the courtroom that morning Frank's absolute hatred for the man had exploded to the surface, clearly visible to anyone who cared to look. As the security guard had responded to Handling's questions, the details he provided only fueled Frank's rage.

Callie reached out and took his hand, becoming increasingly nervous at his uncharacteristically open display of hostility. It was only the first day of the trial with the most difficult days still ahead of them, leaving Callie to wonder if Frank would have any self control left by the time Joe had to give his own graphic and disturbing testimony.

Thankfully, the judge called a recess for lunch, waited for the jury to be escorted out of the courtroom and then disappeared into his chambers. Those remaining began to file towards the doors, talking in lowered voices about everything they'd heard that morning. Waiting patiently for the people ahead of her to move out of their row of seats, Callie started to turn over her shoulder at Frank who was standing right behind her. As her gaze swept the front of the room, her eyes landed on Keith Rashman and she gasped softly.

It had been obvious that Rashman's attorney had told him to ignore the Hardy's whenever the jury was present, however it was now clear Rashman would be oblivious to that directive once the judge and jury had been cleared from the room. Unable to take her eyes off the man, Callie watched as Keith Rashman stared first at Fenton Hardy, his eyes burning with anger. He then graced Frank with a look of pure hatred so intense, Callie felt herself shudder. However, it was the venomous glare he reserved exclusively for Joe that chilled her to the bone. It was not the look of a man who was insane, but rather a man who was pure evil – and gunning for revenge.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you so much to all who reviewed! :-)

**Chapter 6**

Looking around the table as she finished up the last of her lunch Callie marveled at Fenton Hardy's innate ability to remember the smallest, most seemingly insignificant detail and take care of it as if by magic. Given where she was sitting in the courtroom, Callie had been the first one out of the row of seats with Frank right behind her. Reaching the aisle she had automatically turned to the back of the courtroom and the doors leading out to the corridor only to stop short, suddenly uncertain of what to do. A large group of reporters were waiting, some just inside the courtroom and some right outside the door, all of them intent on getting some kind of statement or reaction from Joe or a member of his family. Hesitantly she had glanced back over her shoulder where she saw Fenton Hardy motioning to the front of the courtroom and a door being guarded by a bailiff.

Following his direction, she turned away from the reporters and headed for the closed door with Frank and the others quickly following behind. Seeing their prey about to slip away, she heard the reporters shouting out questions and comments, cringing inside at their callousness and insensitivity. Initially afraid to turn and look, fearing she would see the reporters descending on Joe like vultures, she finally snuck a peek and almost laughed. They had all stopped at the gate separating the seating area from the front of the room as if some invisible barrier had been erected that they couldn't penetrate. While their voices momentarily carried over, they were soon drowned out when the bailiff opened the door and the Hardy family slipped inside.

Looking around Callie saw a large table in the middle of the room, with various condiments in the center of it and six chairs around it. Against one wall stood another table laden with plates, napkins, silverware, glasses, food and drinks. Two employees from the hotel restaurant stood on either side of the table. Slowly it dawned on her that Fenton Hardy, knowing the media circus that would be anxiously waiting to confront his family, had arranged to have lunch catered by the hotel in a private room inaccessible to anyone who had not been cleared by him personally.

Placing her utensils and napkin on the plate indicating she was finished, Callie's plate was swiftly removed from the table. Seeing Frank was engaged in a teasing give and take with his brother, Callie quietly got up from the table and approached Fenton Hardy who was standing off in a corner checking the messages displayed on his cell phone.

Fenton smiled at her as he returned the phone to his pocket. "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

"Very much. Thank you." Callie stood awkwardly, not sure how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss with Fenton.

"Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?" His voice was low but he smiled encouragingly. It was obvious to him that there was indeed something Callie wanted to say to him, but didn't know where to begin. And the way she kept glancing over her shoulder nervously, told him she didn't want anyone else to be privy to their conversation.

"Yes, there is, I'm just not sure how to say it." With one more quick look at Frank, Joe, Vanessa and Laura, she quietly shared her observations of Keith Rashman with Fenton who listened carefully to not only what she saw, but also what she felt.

"The way he looked at Joe, it was just…" Callie couldn't quite find the right words to explain it, although the involuntary shudder that raced through her said it all. "Am I crazy to be worried about Joe? I mean Rashman is in jail. He can't possibly hurt Joe now, can he?" she asked nervously, concern alight in her eyes.

"The biggest reason I chose the hotel that I did wasn't exactly for it's five-star accommodations," Fenton responded hoping to ease her worries somewhat. "While there are never any guarantees, the penthouse is almost impenetrable. I saw the same thing you did, Callie. It would be naïve to think Rashman wouldn't come after Joe if he thought he could succeed – and get away with it. So I've done everything in my power to let him know the odds are stacked against him should he even think about it." Fenton smiled as he saw Callie had relaxed somewhat. "But it's important that you told me about this, just in case I hadn't seen it." He reached out and squeezed her shoulder affectionately.

"Thanks. That makes me feel better."

"Good. But if you see or hear anything else that makes you the least bit uncomfortable…"

"I'll tell you right away," Callie promised as she turned and headed back to the table.

…

Watching her walk away, Fenton thought about how far Joe and Callie had come over the years. Laughing to himself, he recalled when she and Frank had first started dating. Joe was not at all happy with the amount of time Frank was spending with his new girlfriend and she was equally as jealous over the many hours Frank spent in the company of his brother. For the first few years they simply tolerated each other, with Frank caught in the middle trying to please both of them. Once or twice, Fenton had witnessed the emotional tug of war Joe and Callie played with Frank as the prize, and was grateful beyond words that his older son had been born with the patience of saint and a practically nonexistent temper.

After Joe met Vanessa and the two settled into a steady relationship, Joe seemed to back off somewhat, although he was still prone to flashes of jealousy if he thought Frank was ignoring him in favor of Callie. However, as the years passed and Frank and Callie became more serious about each other, it became apparent their relationship was, more than likely, permanent. It was during that time Fenton had noticed a change in both Callie and Joe. Realizing they would probably be stuck with each other for the rest of their lives, the defenses came down and they both made a concerted effort to really get to know one another. And just as he had suspected all along Joe and Callie found out that they genuinely liked each other.

Seeing Callie's heartfelt concern for Joe now and the very real fear she had that he might be in danger, Fenton realized they had come full circle. As far as Callie was concerned, Joe was just as much her younger brother as he was Frank's. As for Joe, he now had an older sister to turn to, and he often did. Fenton smiled at the insight as he watched Callie return to Frank's side.

"So what were you talking to Dad about?" Frank asked as Callie slipped her arm through his.

"Oh, you know. Weather, sports, the usual," Callie replied evasively. While Callie respected and admired Fenton Hardy immensely they rarely, if ever, sat down together for a chat.

"Not going to tell me, huh?"

"Maybe I just wanted to spend a few minutes with an older, more distinguished version of you," she grinned slyly.

Frank stared at her for a moment. "Was I just insulted or complimented?" he finally asked, puzzled as Callie laughed out loud.

oooOOOooo

Upon returning to the courtroom after lunch, Joe immediately noticed the TV/DVD player that had been set up at the front of the room and his stomach quickly tied itself up in knots. He had noticed right away that Peter Handling had a flair for the dramatic, sometimes resorting to shock value to ensure the jury was left with indelible memories of witness testimony. Unfortunately, Joe realized those indelible memories would also be seared into the minds of his mother and fiancée, something he had wanted to avoid if at all possible.

As soon as the proceedings officially resumed, Handling silently slipped a disc into the machine and hit play. The image of an airport terminal came to life with people walking hurriedly to their destinations. Keeping his eyes on the screen, Joe leaned over to his brother.

"Do you know what this is?" he whispered nervously. Hearing a muttered curse, Joe turned to look at Frank and saw him glaring in the general direction of the District Attorney.

"It's a video tape from airport security," Frank replied tersely. "Any second now we're going to see Rashman and Malick dragging you through the airport."

Vanessa's hand curled tightly around Joe's and she let out a soft gasp alerting him to the fact that "any second now" had just arrived. Snapping his head forward, even Joe was momentarily shocked at seeing himself essentially being kidnapped. He found the experience a little disconcerting since he had no memory of what had happened from the time Rashman knocked him out in the restroom until he awoke chained to the fence.

A movement caught his eye and he turned to his right in time to see Vanessa wiping away a tear. Glancing at his mother who was seated on the other side of Vanessa, he saw that she seemed to be frozen in place. Her blue eyes were wide as she stared at the image of Rashman and Malick abducting Joe, unimpeded. When the image appeared, Laura had automatically lifted a hand to her mouth as if smothering a scream and that's how she remained, seemingly paralyzed with her eyes glued to the screen. Seeing Vanessa and Laura's reactions, Joe's heart started to beat a little faster. This was exactly what he had not wanted to happen.

Joe tugged on Vanessa's hand finally getting her to focus on him and not the image on the screen. He stared at her, blue eyes imploring her not to watch. Understanding her reaction was upsetting Joe, she immediately cast her eyes downward and examined the floor.

Leaning forward past Vanessa, Joe reached out and grabbed his mother's hand. Still Laura continued to stare at the screen a few seconds longer, mesmerized, before turning to him. Faced with the pleading look in his eyes, Laura seemed to realize how distressing it was for Joe to see her reaction. She quickly nodded and threw him a reassuring smile. Laura squeezed his hand tightly before turning away and focusing on the faces of the jurors.

It was several minutes before a blue screen finally appeared indicating the video had ended. Apparently, the prosecution team had retrieved every piece of videotape that had been taken at the time Joe was abducted. Locating the segments containing images of Joe, Rashman and Malick, they had spliced together the entire journey from the moment Rashman and Malick had emerged from the restroom, dragging Joe between them, until they all disappeared out the door and into the night. Handling waited until the silence in the courtroom was just starting to become uncomfortable before he spoke.

"You just witnessed the kidnapping of Joe Hardy, complete with the four Good Samaritans who tried to help and were easily brushed aside. Quite a journey, wasn't it?" Turning, the D.A. stared at Rashman and waited until all eyes were also focused on him. "Not a journey a man who was mentally unstable would be able to pull off."

Suddenly, Joe began to feel like a pawn being used and manipulated to Handling's greatest advantage. He recalled his father telling him Handling had an impressive 'win' record, getting convictions against seemingly impossible odds.

_"He's one of the toughest D.A.'s Chicago has ever had."_ Fenton had said. _"The man is relentless. He'll do anything and everything to get a conviction short of breaking the law."_

Fenton had been trying to reassure Joe that the case was in good hands. At the time, Joe had assumed that meant Handling was tough on the defendants, pulling no punches. He was now coming to the rapid realization that Handling would spare no one in his quest for a guilty verdict, not even the victim, leaving Joe to wonder if his sanity would be sacrificed to ensure Keith Rashman ended up behind bars.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, Joe watched as the D.A. called Jason Santini to the stand. A tall, handsome young man with curly dark hair and smoldering brown eyes strode purposefully to the stand. After being sworn in, it was established that Jason was the bartender on duty at the lounge where Keith Rashman had told security guard Gary Millard that Joe had gotten drunk and passed out.

Unlike all the other witnesses who had testified earlier in the day, Jason swore under oath that he had never seen Keith Rashman or Joe Hardy in person until today. In reply to Handling's questions, Jason stated that he was absolutely certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that neither Joe nor Rashman had set foot in the bar while he was on duty that night, either together or separately. He revealed the second bartender had called in sick and as a result, he had waited on every single customer himself.

As Handling retrieved a second DVD from the table and inserted it into the machine, Joe turned and looked at Frank questioningly. Frank shrugged his shoulders indicating he had no idea what this video might contain. As the image of a bar splashed across the screen, Joe held his breath, dreading the unknown. It was almost a full minute later when he slowly exhaled realizing this was significant for what it _didn't_ show.

"This is security surveillance of the bar in the airport lounge where Mr. Santini works. According to the statement Keith Rashman gave to security guard Gary Millard, this is the bar where he and his 'partner', Mr. Hardy, celebrated the signing of a new client." Walking over to the television, Handling pointed out the date and time displayed on the screen, indicating when the video was taken.

"This was shot during the time Mr. Rashman said he, his partners and their new client were seated at the bar. Yet, neither he nor Mr. Hardy is anywhere to be found. And they won't be," he abruptly turned to face the jury, "because Keith Rashman lied. Joe Hardy did not have too much to drink that night. He was assaulted and knocked unconscious by Keith Rashman in an airport restroom. Mr. Rashman then physically dragged Joe Hardy through the airport, his quick thinking and gift for manipulation allowing him to leave the airport with his captive. Ask yourself if a man who was not in complete control of his faculties would be able to pull off such a feat."

…

As Handling returned to his seat, Frank stared at him and scowled, his opinion of the man having changed drastically in just one day. Over the past few months, Frank had talked to his father about Peter Handling and learned of his tenacity and doggedness resulting in a very impressive record of convictions. After having seen the man in action though, he began to look at him in a new light, which wasn't necessarily flattering.

His hard hitting, sometimes graphic opening argument had left Frank a little stunned. Not the fact that he had used it but that he hadn't even bothered to warn Joe it might be difficult for him to hear. More than once Joe had flinched at Handlings candid description of his ordeal. When he played the video of Joe being dragged through the airport, Frank had been furious. With no warning whatsoever, Joe had been completely unprepared and it had obviously shaken him. Seeing how visibly distraught Laura and Vanessa were at the image of him being dragged away had only upset Joe further.

Chancing a look at his father, Frank bit back a smile. Judging by the look on his face, Fenton Hardy was none too pleased with the District Attorney himself. Frank knew that before the night was over, Peter Handling was going to see a side of Fenton Hardy that his father kept well hidden. Frank knew Fenton would never presume to tell the man how to prosecute the case, but he also knew Fenton was not going to sit in the courtroom day after day and remain silent while Handling used Joe as nothing more than a poker chip to win one of the biggest cases of his career. Returning his attention to the front of the courtroom where the judge was bringing the day's proceedings to a close, Frank was certain that from here on out there would be few, if any, surprises for Joe to contend with.

…

A few seats away, Fenton Hardy was oblivious to the weight of his older son's stare. In fact, the only other person he was aware of at that moment was the District Attorney who seemed intent on slowly chipping away at Joe's sanity. Joe was already uneasy about listening to everyone else describe his nightmarish experience and more than a little jumpy at having to relive it himself. The last thing he needed was the added stress of wondering what kinds of bombs Peter Handling was going to drop each day and how they would affect not only him, but his family as well.

While Fenton might not like the shock value tactics and elements of surprise Handling was sure to use in the upcoming days, he knew they were a necessary evil and a big reason the man was so successful. Still, he was not going to sit back and let his son be victimized again by the very person who was supposed to be bringing his assailant to justice. By the time Fenton was finished with Peter Handling, Joe would no longer have to worry that Handling's next "revelation" would be the one to push him over the edge.

As everyone stood en masse to leave the courtroom, Frank watched his father, unable to hold back a smile. With a look of grim determination, Fenton Hardy approached Peter Handling who was about to learn a lesson in the depth of a father's love, the limits of his patience and the element of surprise.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you Miss Fenway, Helen, asnlfan101, catti-dono and Polaris for reviewing the last two chapters. I know how hectic life can get so I appreciate you taking a moment to leave your thoughts. :-)

**Chapter 7**

Laura Hardy looked at her family seated around the table in the hotel restaurant. The short ride back from the courthouse had been made in total silence and dinner hadn't been much better. She, Frank and Callie had engaged in several short conversations always attempting to involve Fenton, Joe and Vanessa with little or no success.

Seated next to her husband, Laura could feel the anger he was barely able to conceal. After the court proceedings had concluded, Fenton immediately approached the D.A. and the two quickly disappeared behind closed doors. They had emerged a few moments later with Peter Handling looking sufficiently chastised and more than a little shell-shocked, much to Laura's delight. However, Fenton was obviously still brooding about Handling's callous attitude and it's effect on Joe, resulting in little more than one word answers to anything directed at him.

Turning her attention to Joe, she wasn't quite sure if he were stunned, shocked or depressed at the day's events, although she suspected it was a combination of all three. Like his father, Joe had been distracted all evening and barely looked up from his plate except when nudged by Vanessa. For her part, Vanessa had tried to get Joe involved in the dinner conversation but eventually gave up. Obviously concerned about him, Vanessa had withdrawn from the strained conversation and focused all her attention on Joe.

As her thoughts drifted back to the video Peter Handling had sprung on an unsuspecting courtroom, Laura could vividly see Joe being dragged through the airport by Keith Rashman and Dennis Malick. The anger that had dissipated hours earlier began to resurface.

'_Five minutes. I just want five minutes alone with that animal,'_ she thought, incensed, wishing she could dispense her own form of justice to Rashman.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Laura blinked and turned to Frank who had apparently just spoken to her. "What?"

"Are you all right?" Frank repeated, his dark brown eyes narrowed in concern.

"I'm fine, honey." She patted his arm and smiled reassuringly.

Frank nodded, not sure he really believed her. "Cal and I are going to see if the pool is still open after dinner. Why don't you join us?"

"No, thank you, but maybe you could convince your brother to go," Laura suggested hopefully. "It would be a good distraction for him, even if it's only for a little while."

"My thoughts exactly," Frank agreed with a smile, as their waiter appeared to remove the dinner plates. Getting no takers on his offer of dessert, the waiter indicated he'd return momentarily with the bill for Fenton to sign.

Frank stood up, taking Callie's hand and then looked at Joe and Vanessa. "We're going to go see if the pool is still open. You two want to come with us?"

"No, thanks," Joe replied absently.

Frank seemed to accept his brother's answer but as he passed by Vanessa's chair, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Work on him," he requested, getting an affirmative nod in response.

A few minutes later Fenton, Laura, Joe and Vanessa were in the elevator headed up to their suite.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go to the pool for a little while?" Vanessa asked, squeezing Joe's hand.

Joe shook his head. "Nah. I've had enough of strangers for one day. But you go ahead if you want."

Vanessa shrugged. "No, it wouldn't be much fun without you."

As soon as the foursome entered the suite, Joe went straight back to the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him. Vanessa sighed and looked at Fenton and Laura helplessly.

"Keep trying," Fenton encouraged her. "If anyone can convince him he needs a little fun, you can."

"He still won't come?" Frank asked, arriving with Callie just in time to hear Fenton's comment.

"No," Vanessa shook her head. "Said he's had enough of strangers for one day."

"Really?" Frank grinned, glancing at Callie. "Well, it just so happens the pool is closed, but being in the Penthouse Suite has its privileges. Mr. Tableau said he'd open up the pool just for us, so let's go have another chat with him."

Frank and Callie followed Vanessa down the hall towards the bedroom. "If he still says no, work your magic on him, Van. He can't deny you anything."

"My pleasure," Vanessa replied mischievously as she opened the door.

Walking into the bedroom, they found Joe on the couch in the sitting area, staring blankly at the TV as he surfed the channels. Sitting down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch, Frank completely blocked Joe's view of the screen. Callie sat down on the love seat as Vanessa settled in on the couch next to Joe.

Joe glanced at the two of them and then at his brother, arching an eyebrow but remaining silent.

"So how come you don't have your swim suit on? Dad told us about the fabulous pool this place has so I know you packed one," Frank said matter-of-factly.

"I don't feel like dealing with the other hotel guests who will be there. But you guys go ahead. You too, Babe," Joe replied turning to Vanessa.

"Bzzzt. Wrong answer. You lose," Frank said smugly. "The pool is closed but Tableau is going to open it up just for us. No other hotel guests to worry about."

Joe couldn't help but grin at his brother, but still shook his head no. "I'm just not really in the mood, okay?"

"Nope. Not okay." Frank glanced at Vanessa.

"Come on, Baby," Vanessa cajoled, running her fingers through Joe's hair. "It'll just be the four of us. It'll be fun. I really want you to come," she finished laying her head on his shoulder.

"You put her up to this, didn't you?" Joe accused his brother, attempting to ignore Vanessa's feather light kisses on his neck.

Frank grinned like a Cheshire cat in response.

"Please, Joe," Vanessa coaxed as she crawled into Joe's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "For me. It won't be any fun at all without you." She brushed her lips up against his lightly.

"You've sunk to new lows," Joe attempted a glare at Frank, finding it increasingly difficult to ignore Vanessa's ministrations.

"Who cares as long as it works," Callie chimed in with a grin.

Just as Joe was about to respond, Vanessa whispered something in his ear causing him to blush a bright red.

"Bingo! He's in!" Frank laughed. Standing up he patted Joe on the knee. "We'll meet you in the living room in ten minutes." He offered his hand to Callie, leaving Joe and Vanessa alone.

oooOOOooo

Seated in the lounge chair next to his brother, Frank watched Callie and Vanessa lazily floating in the pool discussing something in earnest.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Frank asked, trying to engage Joe in conversation. While Vanessa had been successful in getting Joe to join them, he hadn't been overly talkative since they had arrived at the pool.

Joe thought for a moment before replying. "Plotting the best strategy to hit every mall in Chicago before we have to go home."

"That's entirely possible."

"I wish they would," Joe added, his eyes clouding over with concern. "You know, instead of coming to the trial every day. Them and Mom."

"I know how you feel about wanting to shield them from all the details, Joe, but you know that'll never happen."

"They don't understand how bad it's going to get." Joe turned to his brother. "None of you do. I wouldn't even want you and Dad there if I thought I could handle it alone."

Frank expertly hid the sudden shock he was feeling inside. Joe had been confiding in him over the past few months about what had gone on during the time Rashman held him captive, leading him to believe he was adequately prepared for anything that might come up. After Joe's cryptic comment he wasn't so sure, but it didn't matter – nothing could convince him to abandon his brother now.

"But you don't have to get through it alone. They want to be there for you no matter what," Frank said softly. "We all do."

"Yeah, I know." Joe shook his head. "But today was only the first day and you saw how rattled Mom got when Handling played that video."

'_I saw how rattled you got, too,'_ Frank thought sadly.

"How's she going to react when he starts flashing those damn pictures around?" Joe continued, getting upset at the thought of it. "And Vanessa…" He turned to his brother, a look of dread in his eyes. "God, Frank, I don't want her to see them!"

"Evidence that graphic is usually given directly to the jury," Frank tried to reassure him, although something told him Peter Handling would revel in displaying them for all to see.

"I know that, but Handling obviously likes to grandstand. He didn't have to show that video to the entire courtroom today, but he did. Believe me, I want him to win, but does he always have to go for the shock value?" Joe challenged, wondering if Handling intended to exploit every horrifying abuse he had suffered.

Frank sighed, recalling the brief conversation he'd had with his father while waiting for Joe and Vanessa. After Fenton had shared his opinion of Handling's tactics with the man, in sometimes very colorful terms, he gave Handling a very short list of demands he expected to be met. First and foremost, each night Fenton Hardy would receive a detailed fax listing exactly what Handling had planned for the following day's proceedings, including any surprises he had in store for the jury or the defense.

Using the information, Fenton intended to make sure Joe was completely prepared for the court proceedings and would always know exactly what to expect. Fenton had told Frank he would talk to Joe about it in detail later that night, after receiving Handling's first fax. Right now, however, Frank wasn't sure Joe would last that long without driving himself crazy.

"Listen, Joe, you won't have to worry about that anymore, okay? At least you won't have to wonder when the next bomb is going to be dropped."

"What are you talking about?" Joe asked, confused.

"Dad had a little chat with Handling today right before we came back to the hotel. He wasn't too happy with Handling's surprises and was more than happy to let him know it. From what I can gather, he didn't hold back at all." Frank couldn't help but smile.

Joe's eyes widened slightly. While he'd been lectured, chastised, chided and at times chewed out by his father over the years, he knew he'd never been the recipient of Fenton Hardy's full anger. "Wow…and Handling is still standing?"

"Barely," Frank chuckled. "But the important thing is, from now on you're going to know every single thing Handling has planned _before_ it happens. No more surprises. We might not agree with his methods or like the tactics he uses, but at least now we can be prepared for his grandstanding."

"But…how?" Joe questioned, a little shocked.

"Dad is going to explain everything to you when we get back. For right now, all you need to know is there won't be any more bombshells. At least not for you," Frank smiled reassuringly.

Joe sat back taking in everything Frank said. "Just when I think I have Dad all figured out…" He shook his head in amazement as Frank nodded in agreement.

Suddenly an incoming barrage of water assaulted the boys. Temporarily blinded by the unexpected attack, they jumped up and shuffled back a few steps out of range, wiping their eyes.

Hearing Vanessa's infectious giggle, Joe's heart skipped a beat. No matter how long they were together, he knew he'd never grow tired of hearing that sound. Turning, he looked at his brother with a devilish grin.

"This is war," he announced, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his deep blue eyes.

"Let's go," Frank said solemnly.

With a running start, they jumped into the pool side by side as Callie and Vanessa shrieked with laughter, hindering their half-hearted attempts at escape. Surfacing next to Vanessa, Joe stole a kiss from his fiancée relishing the sound of her laughter and the glowing smile on her face.

Frank and Callie leaned contentedly against the side of the pool watching as Joe and Vanessa playfully splashed each other, taking frequent breaks for whispered conversation and plenty of kisses.

"It's nice to see them so happy," Callie murmured, laying her head on Frank's shoulder.

"Mmm-hmm," Frank agreed. "But why should they have all the fun?" He turned to Callie and slowly leaned in for a kiss. Just as their lips met, they were drenched with water as Joe and Vanessa turned their assault on the married couple.

"Hey, we had to do something to get your attention!" Joe laughed, as Frank wiped the water from his eyes and looked menacingly at his younger brother.

"I think you've got it," Callie replied, wringing the excess water out of her blonde hair.

"Vanessa and I challenge you and Frank to a game of chicken," Joe announced dramatically. "_**IF**_ you think you can take us," he added tauntingly.

"A challenge?" Frank arched an eyebrow.

"A challenge," Vanessa confirmed.

"You're on!" Frank turned to his wife. "Let's show these young whippersnappers how it's done."

Thirty minutes later, with the brothers' fierce competitive drive beginning to take over, Vanessa and Callie wisely declared the games a tie. Joe immediately challenged his older brother to a rematch at a time to be worked out later, to which Frank enthusiastically agreed.

Listening to Joe "trash talk" an anticipated easy victory over his brother in their rematch, Frank winked at Callie as they climbed out of the pool and headed over to the lounge chairs. Drying themselves off, they reclined in the chairs watching Joe and Vanessa cavort in the pool, totally absorbed in each other.

"This was a very good idea," Callie congratulated Frank as she watched Joe laugh at something Vanessa said. "The trial is the farthest thing from his mind right now."

"Don't give me the credit, it was your suggestion, remember? But maybe we should do this every night," Frank mused as Joe pulled Vanessa close to him, stealing several kisses from his fiancée. "You know, come up with different things to distract him even if it's only for a few hours. Maybe then he'll be able to get through this with his sanity in tact."

Frank knew letting Joe isolate himself would only serve to feed his fears and anxiety. He also knew tonight was just a preview of what was to come. Frank was certain that upon returning to the hotel each night, Joe would insist he just wanted to be left alone, giving him plenty of time to replay whatever gruesome details had been revealed in that day's proceedings. It wouldn't take long for Joe to fall into the well of depression he'd been teetering on the edge of for the past few weeks.

If that were to happen, Frank was sure Joe would be so drained and disheartened by the time he was called to testify that he would be easy pickings for Matthew Barning. The wily defense attorney would happily manipulate him into answering questions in such a way as to make it appear even Joe believed Rashman was insane before Joe even knew what was happening.

Glancing at Joe and Vanessa huddled together in the pool, smiling and whispering to each other as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist, Frank was determined to make sure every day would end exactly as this one had. It had taken eleven months, but it seemed as if Joe and Vanessa had finally escaped the dark cloud that had been hovering over them since the beginning of the year and were finally returning to the happy, carefree couple they used to be. Watching his younger brother shower Vanessa with affection and his undivided attention, Frank saw an easygoing, upbeat young man who didn't seem to have a care in the world.

'_Just like he used to be,'_ Frank noted with a smile. This side of Joe that had been missing in action for so long was starting to reappear much more frequently. When it did, Frank would remind himself _this_ was the real Joe Hardy finally coming back to life. _'And I'll be damned if Handling, Rashman or Barning is going to chase him away again.'_

Turning to his wife, Frank saw Callie smiling wistfully at the younger couple and knew she was thinking along the same lines. He hoped that together they could keep Joe and Vanessa moving forward despite the stress of the trial. Frank knew if he and Callie could do that, it was just a matter of time before Joe and Vanessa's endearingly mischievous, playful personalities resurfaced for good.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you so much for the reviews. :-)

**Chapter 8**

Joe sat next to his brother on one of the plush couches of the sunroom, occasionally gazing out the floor to ceiling windows at the glittering lights of the city below. Listening to his father explain exactly what would happen in the next day's proceedings, Joe knew he'd be better prepared for the emotional impact, yet a part of him wanted to block it all out. He could almost feel the nightmares building in his subconscious, begging to be released where they could wreak havoc on his psyche. Suddenly Joe wondered if this were such a good idea after all. Maybe being blindsided in court each day wasn't such a bad thing. At least then, he'd only have to contend with the bad dreams _after_ each day's disturbing testimony, instead of _before_ and after.

Joe forced himself to refocus on his father and not let his mind wander into potentially dangerous territory. Fenton was telling them Frank would be the first witness called in the morning. Handling intended to ask one lead in question and simply let Frank tell the jury his version of events from the time Vanessa called him from the airport up through seeing the security videotape. He would ask questions only if he wanted specific details. When his testimony was completed, Frank would be dismissed with the stipulation he would be recalled later in the trial.

"Does Handling have any _surprises_ planned during my testimony?" Frank asked, glancing at his younger brother warily.

"No, not for you." Fenton shuffled a few papers nervously.

His vague response and sudden nervousness conveyed the message that the 'surprises' would come later in the day.

"When Frank is done, Handling will call me," he continued. "After establishing how George and I know each other, he's going to ask me to repeat what George and I said after George identified Rashman on the security video. That's when things could get dicey." Fenton sighed and leaned back against the cushions of the couch.

"How so?" Frank asked, puzzled.

"That's the first time Craig Rashman's name comes up. Handling wants the jury to know as much as possible about Craig – who he is, who he worked for, what his job was and especially that he trained Keith to follow in his footsteps. Everything Keith knows, he learned from his brother.

"More importantly, he wants them to know that Craig is now in prison serving three life sentences, and I'm the one who put him there. He wants the jurors to come to the conclusion that once Keith figured out Joe was my son, he was twice as brutal." Fenton stopped abruptly and looked out the window. His heart ached knowing that was exactly what had happened.

"He wants to close out the day by insinuating Keith decided to kill two birds with one stone. He made a conscious decision to get the information he needed from Joe _and_ get revenge on me at the same time. His final point would be that someone who was temporarily insane wouldn't be able to make all those connections, therefore Rashman had to know what he was doing."

"Why would any of that be a problem?"

"The second Craig Rashman's name comes up, Barning will object and with good reason. Craig is not on trial here. The jury has no idea he even exists let alone who he is. Barning can argue Craig has nothing to do with this trial and the line of questioning should be disallowed. If the judge agrees…" Fenton shrugged, letting his silence finish the sentence.

"The jury will never find out about Craig!" Frank said angrily, certain Keith Rashman's abuse of Joe had escalated dramatically once he made the connection between Joe and Fenton.

"Do you think that'll happen?" Joe finally spoke.

"I honestly don't know," Fenton responded. "The judge could agree with Barning and disallow it immediately. Or he could let Handling begin the questioning with the warning he has to connect it to this case right away or it will be stricken from the record. That's what we're hoping will happen. Technically, that information won't make or break the case, but it would put a huge dent in Rashman's claim of temporary insanity."

Joe nodded as the anxiety that had been temporarily numbed over the past few hours fully reawakened.

"And that's when the fireworks will start," Fenton warned him. "Handling intends to push the limits as far as possible in describing how brutal Rashman was with you. I don't know how much detail he'll get into before Barning finally objects, but I want you to be prepared. He'll keep going until the judge forces him to stop." Fenton looked at Joe concerned.

Feeling not only Fenton's eyes on him but Frank's as well, Joe suddenly felt as if he were under a microscope with his every thought and feeling being analyzed. He forced a reassuring smile to his face. "Don't worry, Dad. I'll be ready." Abruptly he stood up. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it," Fenton replied. He watched Joe literally flee the room and turned to Frank, feeling helpless.

"I'll talk to him again in the morning, Dad. Now that he knows what to expect, he'll be okay." Frank tried to put his father's mind at ease.

Fenton nodded grimly and went back to shuffling the papers in front of him.

oooOOOooo

As Keith Rashman was ushered into the courtroom, he deliberately sought out the Hardys, glaring first at Fenton and then Frank, saving his most menacing glare for Joe. Joe returned the look, unflinching, as he silently repeated Frank's words of encouragement from just an hour or so earlier. Joe reminded himself he was not alone, hoping to alleviate the anxiety and apprehension Rashman's presence always seemed to ignite inside him. He concentrated on the feeling of being surrounded by his family as Frank leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Remember, we've got him outnumbered." Joe looked up and smiled at his brother. Knowing the emotional chaos that was waiting for him at the end of the day, Joe could only hope his current positive frame of mind would hold out that long. His attention turned to the front of the room as the first witness was called.

"The prosecution calls Franklin Davis Hardy."

Joe watched as his older brother rose and walked to the front of the courtroom, ignoring Keith Rashman as he passed the defense table. With a smile, Joe noted it was getting increasingly difficult for Rashman to keep his hatred of the Hardys hidden, despite his attorney's frequent reminders. As Frank walked by, Rashman's contempt for him was clearly visible if only for a second. While Frank was being sworn in, Joe saw Barning lean over, apparently reminding his client yet again about outward displays of hostility.

Listening to Frank recount his version of what happened the night Joe was abducted, Joe was hit with the realization that he would never be fully prepared for what each day's proceedings would reveal. For the first time, Joe heard about Vanessa's frantic phone call to Frank when he failed to disembark from the plane. Joe caught the slightest echo of guilt in his brother's voice when he explained why he hadn't answered when Joe initially called him. It was that moment when Joe understood he wasn't the only one who would be haunted by very painful memories as the trial progressed.

Just as Fenton had predicted, Frank's testimony consisted mostly of Frank relating what had happened the night Joe disappeared. Every few moments Handling would stop him and ask a few questions to bring out something specific he wanted the jury to focus on. By the time Handling finished questioning Frank, it was close to noon.

"No further questions, Your Honor, but I request the right to recall this witness," Handling concluded, returning to his seat.

As Frank stepped down from the witness stand he realized he'd just been handed a golden opportunity. Everyone in the courtroom was seated except for him. Left with nothing else to capture their attention Frank knew all those assembled – particularly the jurors – would follow his every move. In doing so, they would also instinctively follow his gaze.

Keeping his expression neutral, Frank zeroed in on Keith Rashman certain Rashman wouldn't pass up an opportunity to glare at him no matter what his attorney had said. Immediately, Rashman locked eyes with Frank. Very slowly, Frank made his way past the jury box and across the front of the courtroom, keeping his true feelings well hidden. Rashman, however, stared at Frank with venomous hatred.

Suddenly realizing what Frank was doing, Barning quickly tried to draw his client's attention from Frank but it was too late. A stifled gasp from the jury box assured Barning, and Frank, that the jury had not only seen Rashman's uncensored display of hatred, at least one of them understood exactly what it meant.

Had Rashman truly been suffering from temporary insanity when he had tortured Joe and now regretted his actions as Barning had claimed in his opening statement, he would be looking at Frank with sympathy and regret. The intense anger and hatred he so easily displayed was further proof that Rashman was completely sane and the only regret he had was getting caught.

As Frank took his seat between Joe and Callie, he gave Rashman a final glance and silently thanked him for chipping away at his own defense and helping to convince the jury he was guilty.

oooOOOooo

After a recess for lunch, the afternoon's proceedings began with Fenton Hardy being called to the stand. His initial testimony reinforced what Frank had said that morning as Fenton described his actions beginning with the phone call from Frank telling him Joe was missing. As Fenton listened to Handling ask the next question he glanced at Joe, hoping he had adequately prepared his son for whatever the district attorney was about to unleash.

"When Mr. DiSantos recognized the defendant on the video and identified him as Keith Rashman, what was your reaction?" Handling asked.

"I asked him if Keith was related to Craig Rashman."

Barning was on his feet in an instant. "Objection! My client's relationship to Craig Rashman has no bearing on this trial."

"Oh, but it does, Your Honor. And if I am allowed to continue this line of questioning, it will become quite clear in a matter of moments."

"Overruled," the judge stated, "but please make your point quickly, Mr. Handling."

"Yes, Your Honor," he replied, returning his attention to Fenton. "When you asked Mr. DiSantos if Keith was related to Craig Rashman, how did he respond?"

"He said Keith was Craig's younger brother and that Keith was a specialist, just as Craig was," Fenton replied, recalling the fear that had raced through him when he had first heard those words.

"And what did Craig Rashman specialize in?" Handling prompted.

"Your Honor, I have to object! Craig Rashman is not on trial here. There is no reason for discussion of any special talents he may have," Barning objected again, nervously eyeing the jury.

"Mr. Barning, I have already allowed the line of questioning. If Mr. Handling's reason doesn't become clear, it will be stricken from the record. Now, please sit down," the judge ordered, as he turned to Fenton. "You may answer the question."

Outwardly, Fenton showed no emotion at all, but inside he was grinning from ear to ear. Handling wanted the jury to know that a New York crime family had employed Craig Rashman as their top enforcer, his two main jobs being torture and murder. He wanted them to know Fenton Hardy was the man who had finally uncovered enough evidence against Craig Rashman for him to be found guilty of three counts of murder. He wanted them to know Fenton Hardy was the star witness in Craig Rashman's trial. Above all else, he wanted the jury to make the connection that Keith Rashman held Fenton Hardy personally responsible for his brother having to spend the rest of his life in prison.

"He was the number one enforcer for the Sancini crime family in New York City and specialized in torture and murder," Fenton replied.

"Do you know where Craig Rashman is right now?" Handling asked, turning towards the jury.

"He's in the New York State Penitentiary serving three life sentences for murder."

"Mr. Hardy, who gathered the evidence against Craig Rashman that resulted in his conviction on three counts of murder?"

"I did."

"Who was the star witness at his trial?"

"I was. "

"And who was the person whose testimony was essentially responsible for achieving the guilty verdicts and is the reason he will spend the rest of his life in prison?" Handling stared at the jurors, anticipating their reactions.

"I was," Fenton confirmed.

Handling watched and waited, letting the jury absorb the new information. He saw the spark in the eyes of several jurors as they realized the significance of what they had just heard. He took a few steps forward and positioned himself directly in front of the jury.

"So years later, Keith Rashman, who was trained by his brother in the art of torture and abuse, finds his latest victim is the son of the man who sent his brother to prison with no hope of ever being released. Fate has suddenly given him the chance to seek retribution for his brother's imprisonment and he wasted no time in doing so. With relentless and savage acts of barbarism…"

Barning was on his feet instantly. "Objection!"

Joe felt his heart pounding in his chest and knew he wasn't even close to being prepared enough for what he was about to hear.

"…the merciless, inhumane torture…" Handling continued theatrically.

Joe could feel his breathing start to become erratic.

"Your Honor!"

"…sadistically tormenting…"

The voices seemed to be fading away as Joe heard the echo of Keith Rashman reminding him to be still. Joe shuddered involuntarily, feeling the enraged scorpions in his hair and on his arms.

Clutching his left arm tightly to his chest, Joe closed his eyes and prayed for the nightmare to end. Instead, he found himself caught in a tangled mass of horrifying flashbacks unable to find his way out and perilously close to collapse.


	9. Chapter 9

Many thanks to Phx, Helen, Polaris, Miss Fenway and MissMe113 for reviewing! :-)

**Chapter 9**

_"_So years later, Keith Rashman, who was trained by his brother in the art of torture and abuse, finds his latest victim is the son of the man who sent his brother to prison with no hope of ever being released. Fate has suddenly given him the chance to seek retribution for his brother's imprisonment and he wasted no time in doing so. With relentless savage acts of barbarism…"

Vanessa stared at Peter Handling, knowing her mouth was gaping open in absolute shock. Before going to bed the previous evening, Joe had asked her for the umpteenth time not to attend the trial even though he knew she would refuse. When she did just that, Joe had nervously related what Fenton told him wanting her to be prepared for Handling's onslaught. Yet, in her worst nightmares she never expected anything like this.

"…the merciless, inhumane torture…" Handling continued theatrically.

Almost hypnotized by Handling's brutally graphic description, it took Vanessa a moment to realize something was wrong. Seconds later, she heard someone gasping for air and turned to her left in alarm.

"…sadistically tormenting…"

The words ripped at her heart but Vanessa could see the effect on Joe was far more devastating. She had never seen such fear in his eyes and knew, at least mentally, he was no longer in the courtroom.

"Joe!" she whispered harshly, hoping to grab his attention.

Joe suddenly tore his right hand from her grasp, his breathing becoming harsh and ragged. Squeezing his eyes shut, Joe pulled his left arm into his body clutching it protectively.

As Vanessa put her arm around Joe, she saw his sudden movement had gotten Frank's attention, too. As she leaned in closer and began to speak to Joe, she watched Frank put his hand on Joe's shoulder and squeeze tightly.

"Joe, honey, listen to me," Vanessa said in a low, soothing voice. "You're safe. I'm right here with you. Frank is here with you." Despite being aware of not only Frank, but also Laura, Callie and even Fenton staring at her, Vanessa continued her whispers of comfort to Joe. "You're all right. No one can hurt you. Just open your eyes, Baby. You're not alone. We're all right here with you."

…

Frank watched, first in fear, as his younger brother started to slip away into the nightmare that slowly seemed to be taking over his life. Then in amazement as Vanessa began talking to Joe, hoping to lure him back from the horrific memories that refused let him go. Initially, Frank thought he'd have to grab his brother and drag Joe from the courtroom. As bad a scene as that would be, Frank was certain Joe would prefer that to the embarrassment of a complete breakdown in front of a room full of strangers.

Just as he was about to pull Joe to his feet, Frank saw something spark in Joe's eyes. Vanessa had kept up a continuous stream of whispered words of love and support, refusing to stop. Frank couldn't hear exactly what Vanessa was saying but he could see the effect it was having on Joe.

Slowly, Joe released the painfully tight hold on his arm letting it fall to his side. His breathing slowed considerably, almost returning to normal. Blinking a few times, Joe became aware of his surroundings. Instinctively he turned to Vanessa, somehow knowing without a doubt she had been the one to pull him back.

The next few minutes passed by in a blur as Joe suddenly realized the judge and jury had left the courtroom, ending the proceedings for the day. As everyone stood, Joe turned to Vanessa and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear.

"Joe?" Frank's voice was filled with concern.

Releasing Vanessa but holding her hand securely, Joe moved to face his brother. As his gaze swept the front of the room Joe froze, finding himself trapped in Keith Rashman's hateful glare.

Glancing over his shoulder, Frank immediately saw what had caused Joe to stop in fear. Taking two steps to his left, Frank now stood directly in front of Joe effectively blocking Keith Rashman from his brother's line of sight.

"Joe?" Frank waited for Joe to acknowledge him.

"Huh? What?" Joe said snapping out of his daze.

"Ready to blow this taco stand?" Frank smiled.

"You have no idea." Joe gave a tired smile of his own. "Let's go."

As Frank walked beside him, Joe was aware of Frank's continuous shifting of position and knew it was to ensure he would not have to face Keith Rashman again that day.

'_Thanks, bro,'_ Joe thought gratefully, feeling Frank's hand on his back, guiding him towards a side exit away from both Rashman and the horde of reporters that had been circling like vultures since the opening day of the trial.

"Frank?" Joe said tentatively as they walked.

"Yeah?"

"Um…were you and Callie planning to go to the pool again tonight?"

Frank smiled inwardly, getting the message loud and clear. "I think that could be arranged."

oooOOOooo

"Come on, Cal! I'll even let you win!" Joe yelled from the pool, trying to convince Callie to stay a little longer.

"How can you turn down an offer like that?" Vanessa laughed, trying to avoid the spray of water Joe sent in her direction.

"It's tempting, but I'm starting to turn into a prune," Callie smiled, pulling a t-shirt over her head. Blowing a kiss to Frank who was floating in the pool trying to avoid Joe and Vanessa's water fights, Callie picked up the towel and magazine she'd brought with her and returned to the penthouse.

After she had showered and changed, Callie walked towards the kitchen for a snack. Passing Laura and Fenton's room, she heard Fenton's muffled voice through the closed door. She smiled to herself when his voice rose and she caught the words 'idiot' and 'moronic'.

'_Must be talking to – or about – Handling,'_ Callie mused, shuddering slightly as the image of Joe rapidly falling apart flashed before her eyes.

Pulling open the door of the refrigerator, Callie contemplated her choices when she heard a soft whimper. Letting the door swing shut, she took a few steps into the living room and heard it again, this time accompanied by a few sniffles. Following the sound, Callie crossed the large living area stopping when she reached the partially closed door of the sunroom. Listening closely, Callie heard someone crying softly.

Quietly pushing the door open, Callie poked her head inside. A single light cast a soft glow over the room and it's lone occupant. Seated all alone on the couch, Laura Hardy stared out the window into the night, crying softly.

Callie felt her eyes burn at the heartbreaking scene. Quickly pulling herself together, Callie stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. When she sat on the couch, Laura turned pain-filled blue eyes on her daughter-in-law. She closed her eyes, her lower lip quivering, as Callie put her arms around Laura and held her.

As soon as she felt Callie's arms encircle her, Laura broke down, sobbing helplessly. As Callie gently rubbed her back, Laura let go of all the pain she'd been trying to keep hidden from Fenton and especially Joe. She had no idea how long she'd cried, but finally Laura felt the tears subside. Pulling away, she gratefully accepted the tissue Callie offered.

"Th-thank you," Laura hiccupped, looking at her daughter-in-law with red-rimmed eyes. "I guess I needed to let that out."

"Is there anything else you need to let out?" Callie asked, stroking Laura's back encouragingly. "I'm a pretty good listener."

Laura looked at Callie, debating her offer. "You wouldn't mind?" she asked tentatively.

"Of course not. And everything stays just between us."

Laura nodded gratefully, squeezing Callie's hand. She desperately wanted to talk about her own tangle of emotions as a result of what she had heard – and seen – in the courtroom, but couldn't figure out where to begin. Gazing out the window, she said the first thing that popped into her head.

"He was smiling," she whispered, her eyes immediately burning at the memory. "Keith Rashman," she clarified turning back to Callie. "When Peter Handling was describing how he… the way he… _hurt_… Joe, I couldn't help but look at him. And he was smiling, Callie. _Smiling_!" Her voice quivered.

Sensing Laura just needed to get everything out in the open, Callie simply held her hand tightly, remaining silent.

"Fenton told me about Craig Rashman. He told me Keith was probably harder on Joe once he found out who Joe really was. My God, that doesn't even begin to describe what he did." Laura shook her head as Handling's words haunted her, still having trouble believing they were being used to describe what her son had endured.

_"…savage barbarism…inhumane torture…sadistically tormenting…"_

"Knowing he tortured Joe – that he took pleasure in torturing Joe – simply because of who his father is..." Laura said, distressed. "What kind of human being would do that? Deliberately abuse a child just to get back at a parent?"

"He's not human," Callie replied bitterly. "He's an animal."

"I've always known in the back of my mind that the boys could be hurt simply because of who their father is. Oh, hell, I _know_ it's happened. I guess I just didn't want to acknowledge it before. None of us did. And it's always been easy to ignore. But this…" Laura waved her hand in the air. "Joe suffered so horribly just because he's Fenton Hardy's son."

Laura wiped away a few lingering tears and then smiled at Callie. "I-I guess I wasn't as prepared as I thought I was."

"I don't think anyone can be prepared for what we heard today," Callie comforted her.

"Thank you, Callie. Thank you so much for listening," Laura said gratefully. "I didn't want Joe to know how upsetting it was – to hear how much he suffered – but I knew I couldn't keep it inside much longer. And I couldn't possibly talk to Fenton about it. He feels badly enough already. He doesn't need to be reminded how much more Joe had to suffer because of him." Reaching out, she hugged Callie tightly. "I'm so proud to have you for a daughter-in-law."

"Anytime you need to talk just let me know. I'll be here," Callie assured her.

"I will." Laura stood up and the two women took one last look at the bright lights of the city below before leaving the room.

oooOOOooo

Callie lay in bed, trembling. She had awakened from a terrifying nightmare almost an hour earlier and was scared to close her eyes again. Hearing Frank's soft, easy breathing next to her she almost wanted to wake him. More than anything she wanted to feel his arms around her and the comforting sound of his voice reassuring her it was just a bad dream, but she knew that wasn't possible. It had been just a bad dream for her, but Fenton and Laura Hardy had been living her nightmare for the past six months.

In her dream, she had seen a boy with dark hair and eyes. He looked eerily like Frank. Somehow, she knew this was their son yet she wasn't happy. It had taken a moment before she realized the little boy wasn't simply sleeping. He was lying in a hospital bed, swathed in bandages, with tubes and machines attached to every visible part of his small body. Frank was there beside her, apologizing, telling her it was his fault. Their son had been kidnapped, beaten, tortured and left for dead simply to get back at him. Even though their little boy had been found alive, the doctors were not hopeful. They had used the words 'head injury' and 'permanent brain damage'. It was when the comforting beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor had suddenly turned into a shrill, steady whine that Callie had awakened.

Callie felt the tears on her cheeks once again, as she worried about the children she and Frank planned to have one day. Would they suffer because of what their father had chosen to do for a living? Would they become targets simply because of who their father – or grandfather or uncle – was? Would they one day have to go through the same thing Joe did – or worse?

No longer wanting to sleep, Callie nonetheless felt her eyelids become heavy and finally slide shut. As she drifted off, the piercing scream of the heart monitor announcing the death of her child filled her dreams once more.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you so much for the reviews. :-)

**Chapter 10**

Joe settled back in the chair as the afternoon session got underway. The morning had gone pretty well with no surprises and he was hopeful the afternoon would be more of the same. Detective Carlos Sanchez was the only witness scheduled for the day. He had spent the entire morning answering questions about the Special Investigations Task Force on Organized Crime and what the task force had uncovered on Keith Rashman over the years.

Despite repeated objections by Matthew Barning, the judge had allowed all of Sanchez's testimony to stand. That had been a huge victory as Carlos was able to tell the jury about the evidence they had gathered on Rashman. While it had never been enough to guarantee a conviction if they brought him to trial, it was more than enough to show history and pattern.

As he watched Carlos return to the stand, Joe smiled. Now that a pattern had been established, it would be even more difficult for the jury to believe Rashman's claim of temporary insanity.

"Please tell us about your first meeting with Fenton and Frank Hardy," Handling asked after Sanchez was sworn in.

"George DiSantos called me when he realized the significance of who had kidnapped Joe. I agreed to meet with the Hardys and see if I could help them narrow down a search area. I gave them a little background on Mr. Rashman and his employer. I told them it was imperative they find Joe as soon as possible. At that point Frank asked me what the chances were that Joe would be released if he revealed what he knew."

"And how did you respond?"

"With the truth – as soon as he gave them the information they wanted, Joe would have been killed instantly."

"So Joe Hardy's _only_ chance for survival was to remain silent and submit to being ruthlessly and mercilessly tortured, praying he could survive the abuse until…" Handling began.

"Objection! That's speculation, Your Honor, not fact," Barning stated.

"Sustained. The jury will disregard the last statement," the judge agreed, eyeing Handling warily.

Handling smirked in the general direction of the defense before he resumed questioning, knowing it was impossible to completely disregard something like that once it had been heard and processed. "Were you able to assist the Hardys in determining the most likely areas to begin their search?"

"Based on the information we've gathered over the years, I knew it would be a remote, desolate location," Carlos replied.

"Why is that?" the D.A. probed, watching for the jurors reactions.

"Victims are taken to distant and isolated locations so Mr. Rashman can torture them freely without having to worry about anyone hearing their screams." Carlos stopped speaking as he picked up on a signal from Handling to wait. He'd been questioned by Peter Handling more times than he cared to remember and knew how the man worked even if he didn't always agree with it. Right now, Handling wanted Carlos' last words to hang in the air for dramatic effect.

Looking out at the spectators Carlos felt a twinge of guilt. He recognized Joe's mother and fiancée in the first row and at that moment, they were both on the verge of tears. Deciding the drama had lasted long enough Carlos plunged ahead without waiting for Peter Handling's okay.

"However, my team and I had noticed a pattern a few months ago," Carlos continued ignoring the baleful look he got from Handling for continuing without permission. "It seemed Mr. Rashman had run out of new locations for his work. He had begun going back to sites of previous 'interrogations' and reusing them. He also used them in the same order he had originally. Based on that information, I was able to narrow down a very specific area for the Hardys to search."

Carlos smiled as he saw the look of fury on Rashman's face. Apparently, Keith Rashman just now realized that by going back to earlier locations in the exact order he had originally used them, he had inadvertently assisted the Hardys in finding Joe before he had a chance to kill him.

"Frank and I spent several hours mapping out the most likely spots Mr. Rashman would have taken Joe. We ranked them in order of most likely to least likely. I knew if they weren't able to locate Joe within the first twenty-four hours of his abduction, by the time they did find him he'd be dead."

oooOOOooo

Matthew Barning waited until the judge had retreated to his chambers and closed the door before letting the frustration he felt show on his face. They had taken a big hit today with Carlos Sanchez's testimony. The most he had been able to do during cross examination was get Sanchez to admit that there wasn't enough evidence in any one case to bring charges against his client. Still, there was more than enough evidence to show Joe Hardy was _not_ Rashman's first victim.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barning saw Keith Rashman turn in his seat and glare openly at the Hardy brothers with a look that would strike fear in the heart of the devil. With the jury gone and tired of reminding his client not to openly display such aggression, Barning let Rashman indulge in his obviously dark fantasy regarding the Hardys – whatever that was. It didn't last long as the police guards approached the table and escorted Rashman from the courtroom.

Preparing to leave himself, Matthew Barning suddenly felt his gaze inexplicably drawn to Frank and Joe Hardy. He observed a silent, intuitive exchange between them that served to emphasize their obviously close relationship. He was surprised to find himself feeling a little jealous as he compared the distant and strained relationship he had with his own brothers to that of the Hardys.

Sitting back in his chair, Barning watched as Frank Hardy hovered close to his younger brother. Close enough, he noted, that the younger man visibly relaxed in Frank's presence, almost as if some kind of protective shield had been erected around him that couldn't be breeched unless Frank allowed it. While Joe seemed to let his guard down and become _less_ aware of his surroundings while in the shadow of his brother, Frank had the exact opposite reaction, his overprotective instincts driven into high gear.

Barning chuckled to himself as he realized Frank's behavior closely resembled that of his current employer's well-paid bodyguards. Frank's gaze constantly swept the room with nothing escaping his scrutiny. He never ventured more than a few steps away from his brother and made sure no one got even remotely close to Joe unless he allowed it. Frank effortlessly adjusted to Joe's every move, yet he did so with a casual nonchalance that never called attention to himself or his brother. As Barning marveled at the interaction between the two brothers, the twinge of jealousy resurfaced.

As he always did at the start of a new case, Barning had thoroughly researched the Hardy family. Experience had taught him that, more often than not, something in the background of the victim or their family could be used either _against_ them or _in support of_ his own client. Quickly learning of the unusually close relationship between the Hardy brothers, he zeroed in on Frank and Joe as an idea took shape in his mind. Bold and controversial, he wasn't quite sure it would work until the start of the trial. Once he witnessed first hand the bond they shared, almost frightening in its intensity, he felt confident the daring strategy he'd come up with as the cornerstone of Keith Rashman's defense might just be enough to get him off.

'_It has to be,'_ he thought, knowing for a fact his client was most definitely _not_ insane.

Standing, Matthew Barning gathered up the papers on the table and placed them in his briefcase. Snapping it shut, he turned and walked through the seating area towards the doors. Feeling Frank Hardy's eyes on him all the way, he wondered how Frank and Joe would react if they knew the intense bond that was at the heart of their obviously close relationship had played right into his hands, emerging as the key factor he needed to have any chance of attaining a not guilty verdict for his client.

Exiting the courtroom, Barning stopped short and turned around, as the one tiny piece of his soul that still had an ounce of compassion wouldn't allow him to leave just yet. Looking through the open doors, he watched Joe Hardy speaking to his brother and suddenly felt sorry for the troubled young man who didn't deserve what had happened to him. Haunted by the relationship he never had with his own brothers, Barning found himself concerned that the tactic he planned to use to get his client off might cause irreparable harm to the supposedly unbreakable bond Frank and Joe Hardy shared.

Unsettled by the now alien emotion of caring, Barning squared his shoulders and shook it off. He hadn't become one of the most ruthless and successful defense attorneys in the country by letting sympathy for the victims of his clients get in the way. The relationship between the Hardy brothers was of no concern to him except in how it could be manipulated to his fullest advantage. The 'win at all costs' attitude that had slowly killed the once caring man inside Matthew Barning resurfaced. As it trampled what little compassion he had left and obliterated any lingering concern he had for what would become of the Hardys once the trial was over, he left the courthouse, coldly calculating the odds of victory.

oooOOOooo

Joe stopped in the doorway of the sunroom and took a moment to enjoy the completely unobstructed view of the city, its lights sparkling in the night. As beautiful as it was, the scene couldn't hold a candle to the breathtaking view of Lake Michigan that could be seen from the windows on the other side of the room during the day.

Joe started across the room to the plush sofa where Frank was stretched out, engrossed in something on his laptop. As he got closer, Joe could begin to make out what his brother was reading.

"Is Bayport surviving without us?" he cracked, recognizing the online version of their hometown newspaper, _The Bayport Times._

"So far," Frank smiled. "Although there was a mysterious rash of newspaper thefts on Oak Street."

"I bet Collig has the whole department on overtime to solve that one," Joe joked, referring to Bayport's Chief of Police, as he sat down next to his brother.

"Actually, one of the residents of Oak Street solved it. Seems he just got a new puppy - a retriever – and he was trying to teach it to retrieve the morning paper for him," Frank said with a chuckle.

"I think I see where this is headed," Joe grinned.

"The puppy learned a little too well. He retrieved every newspaper on the street and piled them up inside his doghouse in the backyard. The owner finally noticed and had one of those electronic fences installed."

"And the streets of Bayport are safe once again," Joe said dryly.

"It would seem so." Frank closed the laptop and put it on the coffee table. He settled in comfortably on the couch and turned to face his brother. "Something on your mind?" He knew Joe hadn't come in just to get the latest news from Bayport.

Much to his relief, Joe had become less hesitant about coming to Frank with his qualms and fears since the trial started. Still, Frank wanted to do everything possible to put Joe at ease and encourage him to open up and get his feelings out in the open.

Joe got right to the point. "Yeah. Barning. It's been three days and he hasn't cross-examined anybody other than Sanchez – and even then he only asked two questions. That makes me nervous. I mean every defense attorney cross-examines to try and discredit the witnesses. Why isn't he asking any questions? What's he got up his sleeve?" he finished with a frown.

"Nothing." Frank smiled at the puzzled expression on Joe's face. "There's really nothing he _can_ ask them. During his opening statement, he freely admitted that Rashman did everything he's accused of. He can't very well go back now and try to say the witnesses are mistaken or that it didn't happen. And the longer he doesn't cross-examine Handling's witnesses, the better."

"Why?"

"The jury is hearing an awful lot of information that suggests Rashman knew exactly what he was doing with nothing being said to dispute that. By admitting upfront that Rashman kidnapped you and tried to kill you, Barning pretty much had to forfeit the opportunity for cross-examination.

"Right now, the only thing he's got working for him is the power to object. And even that has only been sustained once so far. Which means he basically has to sit back and wait until it's time to present his side of the case. By that time it might be too late," Frank smiled.

"You think?" Joe asked hopefully.

"I think it's a good possibility. Handling could have every single juror convinced Rashman knew exactly what he was doing before Barning even has a chance to open his mouth. Whatever he's planning to use as a defense strategy, it looks like he's putting all his eggs in one basket. And that's a huge risk that could very well backfire on him," Frank concluded, hoping he had been able to put Joe's mind at ease.

"I never thought of it from that perspective," Joe murmured, taking in everything Frank had said.

Frank saw a thoughtful look appear on Joe's face. "What else?"

"You think Barning will put Rashman on the stand?"

Frank had begun shaking his head vigorously before Joe even finished asking the question. "Absolutely not! No way!"

Joe laughed. "Don't be wishy-washy, Frank, tell me what you really think!"

Frank laid out his theory. "If Barning puts him on the stand, Handling gets to cross-examine him. For some reason, Rashman can't seem to hide how much he enjoyed hurting you or how much he hates you and both attorneys know it. It would take about thirty seconds for Handling to push his buttons and get him to admit he knew exactly what he was doing to you, that he liked doing it, he'd do it again in a heartbeat and his only regret is that he got caught. He'd have himself convicted in under a minute."

"When you put it that way I almost wish Barning _would_ put him on the stand and let him gloat. I could handle whatever he said just knowing he was digging his own grave," Joe responded.

"Well, I'd just as soon not see you go through that," Frank said, wishing he could somehow shield Joe from the emotional turmoil the two attorneys seemed hell-bent on inflicting upon him. Frank nervously wondered exactly _what_ Barning was planning to use as a defense and hoped whatever it was, Joe would be ready for it.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you TraSan, Miss Fenway and Polaris for the reviews. :-)

**Chapter 11**

Over the next two days, Peter Handling finished his questioning of Carlos Sanchez and proceeded to call several witnesses each of whom had some kind of encounter with Keith Rashman. The gas station attendant who had given Frank and Fenton their first solid lead on Joe identified Rashman and testified that he not only filled his car with gas but also purchased eight, one-gallon jugs of water and a box of salt. At Handling's request, he then pointed out Frank and Fenton, saying they had asked about Rashman and wanted to know who had been with him, what kind of car he'd been driving and which direction he'd headed in when he left.

A woman who ran a small general store also identified Rashman, testifying he'd been in her store and purchased three strips of leather. She too singled out Frank and Fenton saying they had asked about Rashman and anyone who may have been with him. She explained they had showed her photographs of two men, neither of which she had seen with Rashman that night, but one of whom she now recognized and identified as Joe.

After Handling finished questioning the woman on Friday afternoon, his final witness prior to the conclusion of the week's proceedings, he made sure to point out that all the purchases Rashman made that night clearly supported the theory that all of his actions were due to a carefully thought out, predetermined plan and not a bout of uncontrolled anger brought on by temporary insanity.

oooOOOooo

Later that evening, Fenton Hardy looked around the dinner table noting the tension that had been evident each night seemed to have diminished. Grateful for the two-day reprieve from the trial that the weekend afforded, he posed the question of just how those two days should be spent. After a rather loud debate and some serious eye rolling by Joe, it was decided that the men need not accompany the women who had all ready reserved Saturday for a full day of shopping on the Magnificent Mile hoping to put a significant dent in their Christmas lists.

"And what will the three of you be doing while we're out buying all your Christmas presents?" Laura asked.

"I don't know," Fenton admitted, as he exchanged a look with Frank and got a nod of approval from his older son, "why don't you decide, Joe."

"Me?" Joe responded, surprised. "Really?"

"Sure, why not." Frank shrugged. "How would you like to spend the day?"

"Hmmm," Joe tilted his chair back and gazed up at the ceiling deep in thought. "First, we sleep in. No alarm clocks allowed."

"Okay, no alarm clocks," Fenton chuckled, knowing both he and Frank would still be up early.

"The first thing we'll do is go to the ESPN Zone for lunch," Joe continued, warming up to the task.

"Lunch?!" Frank exclaimed. "What happened to breakfast?"

"I plan to sleep through breakfast so you're on your own there, bro," Joe grinned. "After lunch, maybe we can go to the Navy Pier. They have this really cool ride called Time Escape. No, wait!!" Joe cried out, now thoroughly caught up his own excitement. "The Pole Position Racing School! We can drive a race car around the track at one hundred and ten miles an hour!"

"_What_?!" Laura and Vanessa cried out in unison, causing the others to erupt in laughter.

"Oh, no," Vanessa began shaking her head, "I'd rather be blissfully ignorant about something like that. You can tell me all about it _after_ you come back alive!" She looked at Joe pointedly.

"Well, I'd rather you didn't do it at all." Laura frowned her displeasure. "Why do you need to drive a car at one hundred and ten miles an hour anyway?"

"Because it's fun, Mom!" Joe replied, his eyes alight with excitement. "Hey, maybe they'd let me take you as a passenger!"

Laura choked on the water she'd been drinking and began coughing uncontrollably.

"Don't worry," Fenton reassured them as he patted Laura on the back, stifling a smile. "Unfortunately for Joe, I think the racing school is closed during the winter."

"Are you sure you can't pull some strings and get them to open it up just for us?" Joe tried to charm his father.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Self preservation," Fenton chuckled eyeing his wife. "I don't want to spend the next six months sleeping on the couch."

"Chicken," Joe muttered under his breath.

"Well, before you make a decision on where to go, let this chicken make a phone call." Fenton stood up. "I'll be right back."

Picking up the phone in the bedroom, Fenton smiled as the sound of his sons' voices and laughter drifted down the hall after him. It had been too long since he'd heard that sound. He waited before dialing, simply listening, knowing all too soon the teasing and laughter would be replaced once again with a tense and heavy silence.

Calling Pierre Tableau, Fenton explained what he wanted, apologizing for the short notice. The hotel manger brushed off his apology, assuring Fenton it wasn't a problem and promising that he would make the arrangements immediately. Returning to the dining room Fenton took his seat. Taking a sip of coffee, he smiled to himself noting all eyes were on him. No one had spoken a word since he returned obviously waiting for some kind of announcement.

"Well?!" Joe finally said, exasperated. "What's the big secret?"

Sitting back, Fenton smiled at Joe anticipating his reaction. "How would you like to go see the Chicago Black Hawks take on the Detroit Red Wings tomorrow afternoon?"

Joe stared at his father with his mouth gaping open and his eyes huge, apparently rendered speechless by the question.

"In a club box at center ice," Fenton continued, teasingly.

Frank laughed, watching his younger brother who had yet to say a word. "That's a first! Joe Hardy, speechless!"

"The Black Hawks? And the Red Wings?" Joe repeated in disbelief. "A club box?!"

"I think there's an echo in here," Frank teased.

"Well?" Fenton said with a wry smile as he looked at Joe expectantly.

"Well what?!" Joe cried out. "Of course I want to go!"

"Took you long enough," Frank continued ragging on his brother.

"Can we leave him here?" Joe asked his father, while looking at Frank through narrowed eyes.

Frank grinned. "Not a chance, little brother. You're usually more entertaining than the game itself. I'm not going to miss this one."

Listening to Frank and Joe playfully teasing each other, Laura sat back and gazed at her husband. She didn't see one of the world's best private investigators, but a devoted father who would do anything for his children. Catching her husband's eye she smiled at him, knowing he would do whatever it took to make sure Joe landed on his feet, no matter what the outcome of the trial.

oooOOOooo

Reaching out, Frank pressed a button and slowed to a fast walk as the speed of the treadmill steadily decreased. Grabbing the towel he'd thrown over the handle, Frank wiped the sweat off his face and glanced at the clock. Even without the aid of an alarm, he had risen early and gotten in a nice long workout. He still had enough time to shower and change prior to joining Callie for breakfast before she, Laura and Vanessa headed out to _"make a large donation to Chicago's economy",_ as Joe had put it the previous evening.

Bringing the belt to a stop, Frank stepped off the treadmill and took a long drink from the water bottle he'd brought with him. Shaking his head, Frank smiled and marveled once again at his father's ability to pull off the impossible and make it look easy. Scoring a club box to a Black Hawks game less than twenty-four hours before the opening face off should have been out of the question, yet Fenton Hardy had done it almost without batting an eye. Thinking back on his childhood, Frank realized Fenton Hardy had been doing the 'impossible' as far back as Frank could remember.

Although Fenton was out of town almost as much as he was home while Frank and Joe were growing up, he made every second with his sons special. Frank had lost count of the vacations, camping or fishing trips, baseball games, football games and family outings he and Joe had shared with their father. And Fenton had never missed the special occasions and important milestones in his sons' lives – birthdays, holidays, Little League championships, high school tournaments, award banquets, and graduations. A few times, he'd made it with barely a second to spare but Fenton always made it, no matter where in the world he was.

It was only when he and Callie had started talking about having children of their own that Frank really understood the lengths his father had gone to, to always be there for him and Joe. Walking back down the hall towards the suite, Frank hoped he could live up to the example Fenton had set and create a bond with his own children as special as the one he shared with his father.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, Frank walked out to the kitchen just as Callie and Vanessa were sitting down to the breakfast that room service had delivered. Kissing his wife good morning, Frank filled his plate and sat down at the table.

"Has Joe shown any signs of waking up yet?" Frank asked Vanessa who was seated across from him.

"Not really," Vanessa grinned, "although he did roll over and remind me to buy him lots of presents when I kissed him goodbye."

'_The world's biggest kid,'_ Frank thought with a smile. "And I'm sure he gave you a list to guide you," he said wryly.

"Weeks ago. And he updates it daily," Vanessa confirmed much to Frank and Callie's amusement. "Hey, he mentioned wanting to go out dancing tonight at one of the local clubs. You'll come with us, won't you?" she asked looking from Callie to Frank, hopefully.

While Joe and Vanessa often made the rounds of the clubs in and around, Bayport dancing the night away, Frank and Callie preferred more subdued, less frenetic outings and rarely joined them. Despite that fact, Frank was willing to do whatever it took to keep Joe's mind occupied with anything other than the trial. He turned to Callie, hoping she'd agree only to find she was one step ahead of him.

"Of course we'll go!" Callie said enthusiastically. "It's always fun watching you and Joe put everyone else to shame on the dance floor."

"Thanks," Vanessa replied gratefully.

"Yeah…thanks," Frank said quietly, kissing his wife on the cheek.

"Now just make sure you save a dance for me," Vanessa winked at Frank, who blushed slightly.

"Only if it's a ballad," Frank stipulated, "I'm not quite as rhythmically gifted as my brother and I don't want to make a complete fool of myself."

oooOOOooo

As Frank had predicted, Joe's reactions to the hockey game had proved just as entertaining as the game itself. Even more enjoyable, Frank thought, had been watching Joe beat their father at most of the interactive games at ESPN Zone prior to the game. The day had flown by in a blur of wisecracks and laughter. After rejoining Laura, Callie and Vanessa for dinner in the hotel restaurant, Frank now found himself in one of the most popular clubs in Chicago. Seated next to Callie at a corner booth, Frank sipped a now lukewarm soda as he scanned the crowd of bodies packed onto the dance floor, occasionally catching a glimpse of Joe and Vanessa. Sensing that he was being watched, Frank turned his head and found Callie staring at him. "What?"

Leaning over, she kissed him in silent response.

"What was that for?" Frank asked even more baffled. "Not that I mind, of course."

"It's because you're such a good brother," Callie replied, laughing softly when Frank blushed enough to be seen even in the dim light of the nightclub. "I can think of a hundred other things you'd enjoy more than this," she waved her hand at the noisy crowd for emphasis, "but you're here anyway."

Frank tried to brush off the compliment. "Yeah, well, I promised Vanessa a dance."

Callie raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Joe."

Frank shrugged. "Chicago's a great city. I'd hate for his only memories of it to be of Keith Rashman."

"And you know he's still too uneasy to explore the city on his own."

"If I recall, you agreed to this before I even opened my mouth."

"Because I knew you wanted to do it for Joe. Like I said, you're a good brother." Callie leaned forward again, this time pressing her lips firmly against Frank's.

"Hey, hey, not in front of us kids!" Joe and Vanessa slid into the booth, flushed and breathless.

"Look who's talking," Frank rolled his eyes, referring to Joe's penchant for public displays of affection.

"Who me?" Joe replied with wide-eyed innocence.

"Don't forget you promised me a dance," Vanessa reminded Frank.

"I haven't forgotten," he assured her, "the next ballad, I'm all yours."

"Ballad?!" Joe snorted. "What a wuss. Come on Cal." Joe grabbed Callie's hand and pulled her from the booth. "Let me save you from this old fuddy-duddy."

Before she could utter a word of protest, Joe had expertly maneuvered himself and Callie to the center of the dance floor.

Vanessa touched Frank's arm lightly. "Thanks for coming tonight. I don't think he would have come if it was just the two of us and he's having a great time."

Frank smiled. "You don't need to thank me. I'm having fun."

Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh yeah, you look like you're having the time of your life," she said sarcastically.

"It's good people watching," Frank laughed, referring to some of the more 'colorful' patrons.

"Well, whatever the reason, thanks. He really needs this." Vanessa let her eyes wander over the crowd and stared at Joe. "It's gonna get bad next week isn't it?" she asked quietly, watching her fiancé laughing and joking with Callie as they danced.

"It'll get worse before it gets better," Frank confirmed somewhat evasively. "But there should only be a few more days of testimony and then all that's left is closing arguments. The worst will be over by then." He stopped as the music slowed and the lights dimmed even further. Smiling, he extended his hand towards Vanessa. "I think they're playing our song."

As Frank and Vanessa made their way onto the dance floor, Frank had no inkling of the nightmare those closing arguments would ignite.

oooOOOooo

It seemed to Fenton Hardy that Sunday night arrived all too soon. They had spent the day visiting Shedd Aquarium and the Hancock Observatory, two of Chicago's premiere attractions, finishing with dinner back at the hotel suite. He surveyed his family, now comfortably sprawled out in the living room watching the last few minutes of a movie.

In contrast to the whirlwind of activity of the past two days, they had opted to close out the weekend quietly, spending the evening together. Fenton smiled at the relaxed and playful banter between Joe and Vanessa, grateful that they had been able to push aside thoughts of the trial even if only temporarily. As the closing credits rolled across the screen, Fenton sighed, knowing it was time to return to reality.

Slowly he stood, watching and waiting, as Joe whispered something to Vanessa and kissed her before rising himself. Frank joined them a few seconds later and the three wordlessly retreated to the sunroom. Taking a seat on the couch, Fenton picked up the papers containing notes he'd made while speaking to Peter Handling earlier in the evening. He'd quickly come to hate these little "briefings", never knowing what kind of nightmares they'd unleash on Joe during the night. He took a deep breath, resolving to get it over with as fast as possible tonight, hoping some of Joe's relaxed good mood might remain in tact.

"Frank is going to be recalled to the stand first thing tomorrow morning. You'll get a few perfunctory questions about what happened between the time we left O'Hare and the time we got to the restaurant." Fenton finally looked up at his sons who were seated across from him, focusing on Frank. "After that Handling is going to have you describe following Rashman and ultimately finding Joe. And he wants details – a lot of them. The more shocking, the better. If you don't respond the way he wants, it will get ugly pretty fast," Fenton warned.

Frank sat silently for a moment, obviously trying to get a grip on his temper. "Why?!" His voice was tight with barely restrained anger. "He's got all those damn pictures to flash around, he doesn't need minute details from me. And Joe definitely doesn't need to hear it." Frank stopped abruptly, seeing Joe chained to the fence clear as day and feeling his anger close to boiling over. "It's overkill and it's not necessary. If Handling is as good as he seems to think he is, he should be able to get his point across by asking me a few pointed questions and letting those pictures speak for themselves!"

"Believe me, I know how you feel, Frank. I'm going to have to do exactly the same thing as soon as you're finished."

"Twice?! He wants every gory detail _twice_?" Frank said angrily. "Does the guy have ice in his veins? Does he think Joe can just take that all in stride? He can't possibly expect Joe to be in the right frame of mind to testify after hearing that – from both of us!" Frank raged, momentarily forgetting Joe was sitting right next to him.

"Just do it," Joe said softly.

Frank abruptly turned to his younger brother, as if just realizing he was there. To his surprise, Joe shrugged indifferently. "Tell him what he wants to hear and get it over with. If you don't he'll just drag it out until he gets what he wants anyway and drive you crazy in the process. Don't put yourself through that."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Frank said honestly, clearly concerned about the effect his testimony would have on Joe.

Fenton finally spoke, resigned to the emotional toll their testimony would take on all of them. "I'm afraid he's right, Frank. The longer you try and parry with Handling, the worse he'll get. We know what he wants. The sooner we give it to him, the sooner it'll be over." Fenton threw his pen on the table, leaned his head back and ran his fingers through his dark hair in frustration.

"Fine," Frank replied stonily, not quite hiding his anger as well as he hoped. "Anything else I need to know or can I go now?"

Fenton studied his son for a moment and wondered if he had that same look in his own eyes – the same rage, bubbling just below the surface, begging for an outlet. "Yes, you can go."

Frank stood and hurried out of the room, leaving Fenton and Joe in awkward silence.

"He doesn't want to make it any harder on you than it all ready is," Fenton tried to explain, finally sighing in defeat. "Neither do I."

"Dad, I understand. Really, I do." Joe found himself trying to reassure his father. "If it gets too bad I'll just block it out. I'll recite the Star Spangled Banner...backwards," he joked, happy when his father responded with a smile. "Don't worry about me. I think tomorrow is going to be a lot harder on you and Frank than it is on me."

Staring at his younger son, Fenton realized he was probably right. Deep inside he had been dreading this day, when he would have to relive the heart-stopping moment when he'd first seen Joe and thought for sure he was dead. It had been a parent's worst nightmare and something he never wanted to go through again. Yet, here it was staring him in the face.

'_And you're not even close to being ready to relive it all again,'_ he admitted, now fully understanding Frank's uncharacteristic show of anger. _'In front of a room full of strangers, no less.'_

"Dad?" Fenton heard Joe's voice and realized he'd gotten lost in his own fears for several minutes. "Are you all right?" Joe leaned forward, looking at his father with concern.

Fenton forced a smile. "Fine. I think we're done here."

"Okay." Joe stood up and got halfway across the room before he stopped and turned back towards his father, who had resumed poring over the notes from his conversation with Peter Handling.

"Dad?"

Fenton looked up meeting Joe's eyes. "Yes?"

"Thanks." Joe smiled at his father's obvious puzzlement. "The hockey game, the aquarium, the observatory…I know you were just trying to get my mind off the trial for a little while and I just wanted you to know it worked. Goodnight."

Fenton watched Joe disappear down the hall, finding it difficult to swallow over the lump in his throat. "You're welcome, Joe," he whispered hoarsely.

Slowly turning back to the papers in front of him, Fenton saw the words run together and disappear in a blur. Roughly wiping his eyes, Fenton cursed the hand of fate that had dealt his beloved golden child more anguish in the past eleven months than most people would see in a lifetime. And then he cursed himself even more for being unable to prevent it.


	12. Chapter 12

Many thanks to KatSol (now get back to writing chapter 3! I'm waiting very impatiently for it! :p), Polaris, whashaza, Tifal55 and Miss Fenway for the reviews.

And it you want the Red Wings to be victorious, Polaris, I shall wave my magic wand and make it so! :D

**Chapter 12**

Standing in front of the mirror knotting his tie, Frank was relieved to find the conclusion he had come to the previous evening still made perfect sense to him. After leaving Joe and Fenton in stunned silence when he angrily stalked out of the sunroom, Frank had immediately changed clothes and gone to the gym. It had taken forty-five minutes of running on the treadmill and another thirty minutes of martial arts practice before he finally worked through his pent up rage and had a "light bulb" moment.

Remembering the exact moment he and Fenton had found Joe was always painful. Right after returning to Bayport he had tried to forget it ever happened but that only caused the memory to grow. When it started to torment him during the day as well as while he slept, Frank decided to face it head on. As hard as it was, Frank forced himself to recall the gruesome details, reliving every harrowing minute. He had broken down and cried again, just as he had done that night. But he had also been able to exorcise the ghosts that seemed intent on denying him a moment's peace.

When Fenton announced that Frank would be expected to recall the agonizing experience yet again, in front of a roomful of strangers no less, Frank panicked, certain his reaction would be no different than it was that night. However, while running on the treadmill he realized there had been many times in the past six months that something would trigger the memory of finding Joe so close to death. Yet the emotional breakdown he always expected never materialized. It hurt – a lot – to see the vivid images in his mind, but he no longer lost control when they appeared.

Frank had been embarrassed and a little ashamed at the way he'd sobbed that night. His father had been a rock, taking charge, treating Joe's injuries and getting him to a hospital as quickly as possible while Frank had barely remained coherent. Fenton hadn't shed a tear, pushing his fears and emotions down and burying them for the sake of his sons. Many times Frank wished he could have been more like his father that night – until now. Frank had faced the pain of seeing Joe so gravely injured, not knowing if he would survive, head on. It had been emotionally devastating at the time but Frank now understood it was the best thing he could have done.

It would be painful today to talk about finding his brother, describing his gruesome injuries and exploiting them to make Handling happy, but he could get through it. Checking his appearance one final time, Frank headed for the kitchen hoping that, at some point in the last six months, his father had also taken time to grieve.

oooOOOooo

Frank had been on the witness stand for well over two hours. He had described what had transpired from the time they left George DiSantos' office until they had turned onto the obscure dirt road that eventually led them to Rashman, Malick and Joe. Frank had been watching his brother closely and was relieved to see that Joe seemed to be taking his testimony pretty well so far. As he continued speaking, Frank feared that was all about to change for both of them. "Eventually we had to stop and continue on foot. There just wasn't enough cover to hide a car."

"How far did you walk?"

"About half a mile and then we stopped."

"Why did you stop?"

"We found them," Frank replied, his voice having dropped considerably.

"Found who?"

"Rashman and his partner."

"And did you see your brother?"

Instinctively, Frank sought out his father, needing to connect with the one person who had shared that horrifying moment. "Yes," he replied hoarsely, as the terror he'd felt when he first saw Joe came rushing back to him. His eyes burned and his voice began to quiver. "He was chained to a fence…unconscious."

…

Joe closed his eyes as a chorus of gasps echoed around the room but Joe heard only the soft whimper to his right. _'Vanessa…why did I let her come?'_ Joe had never told Vanessa all the grisly details of what he had to endure and she had never pressed, knowing how hard it was for him to remember.

Handling continued pressing Frank for details of Joe's battered condition causing more and more people to focus their attention on Joe. A few would try to steal a glance but most openly gawked at Joe, attempting to visualize the appalling scene as Frank described it. Vaguely, Joe wondered if Vanessa, Callie and his mother were doing the same thing. As if in silent answer, he heard Vanessa draw in a ragged breath, trying not to cry. Unable to look at her, Joe could only hold her hand tighter and tighter and hope that was enough. Feeling the crushing weight of the stares, Joe focused on a spot on the wall. Recalling the promise he'd jokingly made to his father the night before, Joe silently began to recite the words to the National Anthem.

oooOOOooo

Frank watched the defense attorney warily. Matthew Barning silently paced back and forth in front of him. Frank was well aware of the fact that he was only the second witness Barning had chosen to cross-examine making him leery of how the man would try and distort his testimony. Stopping abruptly, Barning turned to Frank, catching him off guard.

"How many times did you shoot my client?"

Angry at the way the question was worded, Frank hesitated briefly before answering. "Twice."

"Once wasn't enough?" Barning asked sarcastically.

"No, it wasn't." Frank's response was automatic and he cringed inside when he realized how it sounded.

"When you shot my client the _first_ time, where was he struck?"

"Right hand." This time Frank replied in a clipped voice, vowing not to let Barning trip him up again.

"And what did he do?"

"He dropped the gun he was holding on Joe."

"And yet you found it necessary to shoot him again?" Barning asked, incredulous.

"He was lunging at Joe with a knife, so yes, I found it necessary to shoot him again to save my brother's life," Frank replied evenly, refusing to be caught up in Barning's game.

"So even though my client had already been shot by you once, he still went after your brother a second time, knowing he'd be shot again." Barning faced the jury as he reviewed the facts Frank had just confirmed. "Hardly the actions of a sane man. No further questions, Your Honor."

Livid that Barning had somehow been able to twist his testimony to make it appear Rashman was insane, Frank glared at Peter Handling. Since Frank had initially been called as a prosecution witness, he knew Handling could question him again after Barning had finished, to try to negate anything Barning might have been able to accomplish. Staring at the District Attorney, Frank hoped Handling was getting the message that he would _not_ leave the witness stand until Handling had at least made an attempt to counteract the damage Barning had done.

'_Finally!'_ Frank thought as Handling slowly rose from his seat.

"I'd like to redirect, Your Honor," the D.A. announced, approaching Frank.

"Go ahead," the judge replied.

"Frank, you testified that as you and your father approached the defendant he was holding a gun on your brother, taunting him and preparing to shoot, is that correct?" Handling repeated what Frank had said moments earlier.

"Yes, that's correct," Frank confirmed.

"You then shot him in the right hand, causing him to drop the gun, correct?"

"Yes."

"You said the defendant then pulled a knife and lunged at your brother."

"Yes," Frank agreed.

"Where did this knife come from? I assume it didn't just magically appear in his hand," Handling asked sarcastically.

"He pulled it from a sheath that was attached to his belt," Frank replied, seeing the terrifying incident as if it had just happened.

"So he had the knife _on_ him."

"Yes, he did," Frank concurred, now seeing where Handling was headed.

Handling glanced at the defense table, shaking his head as if scolding a child who'd just been caught in a lie. He then turned to address the jury.

"So after having been tortured for nearly twenty four hours straight, Joe Hardy was chained to a fence, near death. He was helpless. Yet, the defendant approached him armed with both a gun _and_ a knife, fully intending to use both weapons. In fact, he _tried_ to use both weapons. Are these the actions of a man who is insane? Hardly. Are they the actions of a man with foresight, strategy and a plan? A man who was in complete control, knew exactly what he wanted to do and came prepared to do it? Absolutely."

Frank breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the D.A. return to his seat, satisfied the damage Barning inflicted had been effectively eliminated. "No further questions, Your Honor," Handling announced as he settled back in the chair.


	13. Chapter 13

Many thanks to Phx, Miss Fenway, Polaris and MissMe113. :-)

**Chapter 13**

Sitting in the courtroom Fenton Hardy checked his watch, dreading what was about to happen. For months, he had been so focused on trying to keep Joe from imploding before the trial that he hadn't given any thought to his own testimony or how it would affect him. Until last night. Handling's blunt assessment of what he expected today had left Fenton angry and more shaken than he wanted to admit. Other than giving a statement to the police and answering questions posed by Handling and his assistants, he purposely hadn't thought about the night they found Joe at all. In fact, Fenton had made a concerted effort to block out those awful memories and had been quite successful. Last night he had realized that was a grave error; one that he had no time to correct.

Faced with the reality that he was going to have to relive that night, detailing every agonizing moment, Fenton had finally forced himself to think about it. Every image, every emotion, every fear came back to him with overwhelming clarity. Once they had been unleashed, the memories refused to leave as if trying to make up for lost time. It had been the middle of the night before his mind had stopped spinning enough for him to sleep. Or so he thought.

One mental picture was steadfast in its refusal to go back into hiding and had plagued him throughout the night. It had been suppressed far too long and now wanted it's due. Regardless of whether he was awake or asleep, Fenton couldn't escape the image that tormented him, bringing with it the stark terror he'd felt, as if it were happening all over again. It was that one brief moment when Frank had reached out to check Joe's pulse and announced with absolute certainty that they were too late - Joe was dead.

Even now it was still with him, so vivid Fenton found himself glancing to his left, looking past Laura and Vanessa just to make sure Joe was really there – alive and breathing. Hearing Peter Handling call his name, Fenton felt a trickle of sweat run down his back. His pulse quickened and he tried to calm his nerves before he found himself in a full-blown panic. Slowly, Fenton Hardy stood and walked to the front of the courtroom.

oooOOOooo

Fenton had been on the witness stand for over two hours. While he had been able to maintain an outwardly calm appearance, inside his pulse was racing, his stomach was churning and his heart was breaking. Unable to stop himself, Fenton had frequently found himself staring at Joe throughout the questioning. Joe, who always seemed to know when his father needed encouragement and reassurance, gazed back at him calmly.

_"Don't worry, Dad,"_ the look seemed to say, _"I can handle it."_

The thought that Joe was trying to be strong for him was almost enough to make Fenton's seemingly composed exterior crumble around him. Tearing his eyes away from his younger son, Fenton looked at Frank intently. He had answered all Handling's questions leading up to the moment they found Joe. Fenton knew things were about to get ugly and needed to know Frank could handle it if Joe began to fall apart. Frank nodded almost imperceptibly, letting Fenton know he understood the silent request. Fenton gripped the armrests and focused on Peter Handling.

"Mr. Hardy, your son Frank has already testified that when you found Joe he appeared near death due to the injuries inflicted by the defendant. He also testified that he was forced to shoot the defendant twice in order to save Joe's life. Can you tell us what happened next?"

"As we walked towards Mr. Rashman, I picked up the chain he had removed from the trunk and discarded on the ground." Fenton stopped almost immediately. He felt the all-consuming anger just as he had at that moment, as if it were happening all over again.

An awkward silence ensued as everyone waited for him to continue. Staring hard at Joe, Fenton heard Joe's voice exactly as it had sounded that night – weak and filled with pain.

_"Dad…"_

The same feeling of horrified disbelief washed over him just as it had that night when he thought he was hearing Joe's last words.

"Mr. Hardy, do you need a moment?" the District Attorney asked.

Fenton snapped back to reality. "I'm sorry, what?"

Joe was watching him with confusion and concern. He obviously knew something was wrong with Fenton but had no idea what.

…

Joe leaned towards Frank and whispered worriedly, "What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know," Frank lied, "but I'm sure he'll be fine."

It was that moment when Frank realized his father had never taken the time to try to come to terms with what happened to Joe. More importantly, he never bothered to deal with the guilt that had obviously been eating him alive for months. Frank wished he'd come to this realization sooner and forced his father to face the demons from that night. It had been painfully difficult for Frank to do it, but he knew it was the only reason he had been able to get through his own testimony with his sanity still intact. Frank watched as Fenton shook off Handling's question and resumed his testimony.

…

"I used the chain to subdue Mr. Rashman," Fenton continued, temporarily pushing aside the terror he'd felt that night. "Joe looked at us. He asked for his brother. He asked for me…" Fenton stopped again, an unfamiliar tremor in his voice.

_"Dad…"_ The word and the memory haunted him.

"…and then he passed out," he said softly.

Joe looked at his brother increasingly concerned. _'What's with Dad?!'_,his piercing blue eyes seemed to scream.

Frank gave Joe what he hoped was a comforting look. _'Come on, Dad. Hang in there!'_ Frank silently urged, unnerved at the grief etched on his father's face.

His voice low and subdued, Fenton continued. "Frank reached out and put two fingers on Joe's neck, checking for a pulse. He couldn't find one. He said, _"We're too late! He's dead!"_ Fenton almost choked on the word. "I pulled him back so I could check for myself. I was hoping the leather strap around Joe's neck was the reason Frank couldn't find a pulse."

A few gasps echoed through the courtroom, one of them all too familiar. Slowly, Fenton looked out and gazed at his wife, sorrow now clouding his deep brown eyes. Even from this distance he could see Laura trembling, her eyes wide with shock and both hands covering her mouth.

'_Damn you! Why didn't you prepare her better?!'_ Fenton cursed himself. _'This is her baby you're talking about…' _correcting himself almost immediately,_ '__**our**__ baby…'_

Next to Laura, Vanessa had gone pale but sat stoically with one arm hugging Laura tightly, the other clutching Joe's arm. Fenton's eyes rested briefly on her, as he was once again amazed at her seemingly endless reserves of inner strength.

"I put my fingers on Joe's neck but I couldn't find a pulse either. I moved them slightly and tried again, but still felt…nothing." Suddenly every emotion and every fear Fenton held that night engulfed him as one thought swirled through his mind, _'Joe is dead…Joe is dead…Joe is dead…' _He swallowed, choking back a sob.

"I'm sorry," Fenton said hoarsely. His vision started to blur with unshed tears. "May I have a moment?"

"Of course," Peter Handling replied, showing genuine concern for the first time. Walking to the prosecution table, Handling filled a Styrofoam cup with water and returned to the witness stand. As he handed the water to Fenton, he glanced at the judge who gave a slight nod.

"Take as much time as you need," Handling said soothingly.

Fenton took the cup gratefully. Surprised to see the water sloshing around, he tried to still his badly shaking hands. Sipping the water slowly, Fenton sent out at silent prayer.

'_Please, God, help me get through this.'_

Fenton knew it would be hard enough for Joe to hear the details from his perspective. Still he was confident that with Frank's support Joe would be fine. If, however, Fenton were to break down during his testimony he knew it would affect Joe deeply, reopening the gaping hole of depression Joe had finally seemed to climb out of. Fenton downed the last of the water and sent out a final plea for help.

'_Please help me do this. For Joe…for Laura…'_

Placing the empty cup on the rail Fenton cleared his throat and sat up squaring his shoulders.

"Thank you," he said to the D.A. in a somewhat steadier voice, indicating he was ready to continue. "On the third try I was finally able to locate Joe's pulse. It was weak and shallow. I turned to Frank and told him to check Mr. Rashman's car for anything we could use to help Joe. Blankets, water, first aid kit…those kinds of things.

"While he checked the car I searched Mr. Rashman's pockets and found the key for the chains that were holding Joe to the fence. By then, Frank had returned with a first aid kit, water, towels and blankets. I saw Joe's left arm had been severely burned and asked Frank to clean and bandage it. Once he did that I unlocked the chains, freed Joe from the fence and laid him on a blanket on the ground." Fenton stopped only long enough to take a breath, knowing his new found willpower wouldn't last long. He wanted to finish his testimony as quickly as possible.

"I used Mr. Rashman's knife to cut the leather straps from Joe's neck and wrists." Fenton heard a sniffle and saw his wife brush away a tear. "I asked Frank to direct the flashlight on Joe's foot. He had a pretty severe knife wound and I wanted to get a better look at it."

"What did you find when you took a closer look?" Handling interrupted.

Fenton's eyes flashed with rage and he made no attempt to hide the anger in his voice. "Salt. There was salt deeply embedded in the wound. As if it had been purposely rubbed in."

…

Joe flinched and leaned forward slightly. He shuddered involuntarily as the echo of Keith Rashman's voice surrounded him.

_"This is what's referred to as pouring salt in the wound."_

_The meaning of his words hit Joe at the exact moment the salt hit the once again bleeding gash on his foot. Gasping, hissing and grasping the chains tightly with his hands, Joe did everything possible to keep from crying out, knowing that was exactly what Rashman wanted._

Unknowingly Joe gripped Vanessa's hand tightly, trying to ward off the painful flashback. Even though Vanessa was squeezing his hand just as hard in response, Joe felt himself slipping into the shadowy memory that could surface and torment him in the blink of an eye. Just as the recollection began to swallow him up, Joe felt a hand on his back. The feather light touch was familiar, the small circular pattern it made comforting beyond belief.

"Take a deep breath," Frank murmured.

Joe inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. At Frank's quiet urging, he repeated the calming action again and again. Focusing completely on Frank's voice, Joe allowed his brother to lead him back from the hell that had beckoned to him. A moment later, a slightly more composed Joe turned to Frank and mouthed a silent thank you. Frank winked and gave Joe a final comforting pat on the back before they both returned their attention to their father.

…

"We got Joe in the car and laid him on the backseat," Fenton continued.

"Which car?" Handling asked for clarification.

"Mr. Rashman's."

"Why not your rental car?" Handling pressed, wanting to reinforce in the jurors minds how gravely injured Joe was.

"It was a half a mile away. Joe would have died-"

"Objection!" Matthew Barning called out. "The witness is a private investigator, _not_ a physician," he said disdainfully.

"Sustained," the judge agreed.

Refusing to give up, Handling rephrased the question. "Mr. Hardy, without making a medical judgment, can you tell the court why you chose to use the defendant's car instead of retrieving your own?"

"Joe's injuries appeared to be numerous and severe," Fenton glowered at the defense attorney. "I was afraid if I took the time to walk the quarter of a mile back to my rental car, Joe would die before I got back. I felt I had no choice but to take Mr. Rashman's car in order to save my son's life," he explained, distress at the memory clearly visible in his eyes.

"What happened once you got Joe in the car?"

"We laid him on the backseat but he started choking and gasping for air almost immediately. I'm no doctor," Fenton said sarcastically glaring at Matthew Barning, "but I assumed that meant his lungs or ribs had been injured. It was obvious he couldn't breathe lying down so we sat him up and Frank held him in that position for the duration of the ride."

Hearing this for the first time, Joe immediately looked at his brother, a lump forming in his throat. Frank smiled slightly and shrugged, hoping to smother the horrible memory of thinking he'd never see Joe alive again.

"I called 911 and described Joe's injuries as best I could," Fenton continued. "The operator said she was requesting a MedEvac chopper rather than sending an ambulance to meet us. Based on what I was able to tell her, she felt the sooner Joe began receiving medical treatment, the greater his chance of survival."

"Objection," Barning exclaimed again, making a show of throwing his pen on the table in disgust. "She was an operator, not an EMT."

"A 911 operator who is trained to determine whether a victim is so severely injured that a MedEvac chopper is warranted rather than an ambulance," Handling jumped in before the judge could utter a word.

After considering both arguments carefully, the judge found in Handling's favor. "Overruled," he stated and then turned to Fenton. "You may continue."

"She told me where the chopper would land and gave me directions on how to get there. About eight minutes later, we came to the roadblock. The chopper was already there waiting. The EMT's removed Joe from the car, put him in the chopper and they left," Fenton finished softly. He looked at Frank and Joe, sitting side by side in the first row of seats and felt his eyes begin to burn at the memory. Frank hadn't wanted to let Joe out of his sight. Terrified he'd never see his brother alive again, Frank had sobbed when the chopper took off.

Blinking back the tears, Fenton glared openly at Rashman. _'You put my boys through hell,'_ he thought, wishing Rashman could read his mind. _'One way or another, you'll pay.'_

"No further questions, Your Honor." Peter Handling walked back to the prosecution table.

"Mr. Barning, do you wish to cross-examine?" the judge asked.

"Yes," Barning replied with a smirk as he stood, "I do. Mr. Hardy, you testified that after your son shot my client for the _second_ time, you approached Mr. Rashman, is that correct?"

"Yes," Fenton replied, trying to figure out what Barning was up to.

"With my client lying on the ground with bullet wounds to the hand and shoulder, inflicted by your oldest son, what did you do?"

Fenton hesitated for a second. "I secured him to ensure he couldn't escape before the authorities arrived."

"Mr. Hardy, may I remind you that you are under oath," Barning said coolly.

Joe turned and looked at Frank, confused. What was Barning getting at? Frank stared straight ahead avoiding Joe's questioning gaze, having figured out what Barning's intention was.

Fenton remained silent, glaring in response, as he too understood where Barning was headed with his line of questioning.

"Mr. Hardy, when my client was lying motionless on the ground after being shot by your son – _twice_ – did you do anything else with the chain you had picked up? Did you do anything with it _before_ using it to 'secure' my client?" Barning practically sneered.

"Yes," Fenton answered simply, deciding to make Barning pry every word out of him.

"Exactly what did you do with the chain prior to using it to bind my client?" Barning snapped.

"I used it to immobilize him to ensure he wouldn't get loose after we left," Fenton replied evenly.

Barning chuckled and shook his head. "You're very good at this, Mr. Hardy."

"Your Honor…" Handling began in a cautionary voice.

"Mr. Barning, stick to the facts of the case, please, and keep your personal opinions to yourself," the judge admonished.

"Yes, Your Honor," Barning replied, still smiling. Turning he stared at Fenton with a self-satisfied smirk. "Mr. Hardy, please tell us _exactly_ how you used the chain to immobilize my client."

Fenton looked at Rashman with no remorse. "I hit him in the back of the head with it."

"So even though my client was already on the ground, unmoving, bleeding and in pain from multiple gunshot wounds inflicted by _your son_, you found it necessary to viciously attack him with a chain, knocking him unconscious. This despite the fact that you used said chain and a few more to bind him until the authorities arrived," Barning stated theatrically, turning to face the jury. "Sounds like my client wasn't the only one who was temporarily insane that night," he finished and returned to his seat.

"Objection!" Peter Handling was on his feet in an instant. "Move to strike!"

"Sustained," the judge agreed, glowering at Matthew Barning. "The last comment will be stricken from the record. Mr. Hardy, you may step down."

Furious, Fenton returned to his seat, pausing to glare at both Rashman and Barning on the way. He was shocked to find that for the first time, he wished Frank really had killed Keith Rashman that night.

Making his way down the row to his seat, Fenton stopped in front of Joe, who was very obviously unsettled at what had just occurred. Squeezing his shoulder in comfort, Fenton continued to his seat next to Laura. Shaking with rage, Fenton's gaze was drawn to Keith Rashman.

'_Thirty seconds,'_ he thought, unable to tear his eyes away from the man who had almost killed his son and destroyed his family. _'Just thirty seconds alone with him…' _

Oblivious to his surroundings, Fenton fantasized about the many ways he could extract the revenge he wanted so badly.


	14. Chapter 14

Many thanks to Miss Fenway and TraSan! :D

**Chapter 14**

Callie stepped into the shower, letting the hot water surround her. She hesitated only an instant before closing her eyes. It wouldn't matter whether her eyes were wide open or screwed tightly shut, Callie knew she would see the same disturbing image that had been haunting her all day. Fenton Hardy on the witness stand, responding to Peter Handling's relentless questioning, his poise and self-control crumbling a little more with each response.

The anguish in his eyes and grief in his voice had been heartbreaking and impossible to ignore. Fenton described seeing Joe for the first time and immediately fearing he was dead, his voice catching at the memory. He told of subduing and restraining Rashman, and finally freeing Joe from the chains. Fenton had just started to describe both his and Frank's failed attempts to find Joe's pulse when he stopped and asked for a moment to compose himself, taking everyone by surprise.

For the first time in his life, Fenton Hardy had been unable to slip into his role as investigator and distance himself from the situation. Instead, he was a distraught father close to tears, reliving the worst moment of his life - afraid his son had died right before his eyes and fearing he was the cause. Not only had he been unable to protect his child from harm, Fenton knew he had been the catalyst for the increasingly sadistic acts of torture Joe had been subjected to. Clearly, Fenton still had not come to terms with how much Joe had suffered simply because of who his father was. And that one revelation had dominated Callie's every thought.

How could she, in good conscience, bring a child into the world knowing he or she could very well face a similar situation? How often would her child be used as a pawn to blackmail his father, uncle or grandfather? How many times would someone who felt a Hardy had wronged them use her child to exact revenge?

The faces of the children she dreamed of having with Frank were once clearly etched in her mind. No longer certain she could live each day wondering if her child would be hurt or killed, Callie sobbed as those innocent faces began to fade.

oooOOOooo

Frank looked in the mirror taking in his own bedraggled appearance and frowned in disgust. Glancing at Joe's reflection, he felt the slightest twinge of envy. Running side-by-side on the treadmills in the gym, Frank had kept pace with his brother but Joe looked as if he were barely making an effort while Frank appeared to be nearing his limit. Suddenly he wished he'd suggested a pursuit in which they were more evenly matched when he proposed a visit to the gym.

While Joe wasn't even remotely close to the 'dumb jock' image some people had of him, he _was_ a naturally gifted athlete who seemed to excel at every sport without even trying. No slouch himself when it came to athletics, Frank still had to work harder at certain athletic pursuits than Joe did. Then again, his love of learning and avid interest in all things cerebral seemed to even things out.

Fenton Hardy's emotional testimony on the witness stand and brooding silence upon returning to the hotel had taken everyone by surprise. Joe in particular seemed to be walking on eggshells around his father, never before having seen him openly display such raw emotion and anger. Frank, still fuming at how Barning had twisted his testimony to make Rashman appear insane, had suggested to Joe they go to the gym and work off their frustrations.

'_At least he looks a little more relaxed,'_ Frank thought surreptitiously watching his brother.

As if confirming this observation, Joe looked up and caught his brother's eye in the mirror.

"What was up with Dad today?" he finally asked, apparently having given up trying to understand his father's rapidly changing emotions. "His moods were changing so fast I almost got dizzy."

"Now we know where you get it from," Frank teased, referring to his brother's proclivity to change moods at warp speed.

"It's part of my charm," Joe retorted sarcastically, throwing a dirty look in Frank's general direction. "On Dad it's just plain…_scary_. I thought he was gonna vault over the railing and kill Rashman with his bare hands."

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Reaching out Frank pressed a button on the treadmill and slowed to a walk. "When we found you that night and Dad went after Rashman and Malick with that chain…" Frank shuddered inwardly at the memory. "The look in his eyes was chilling. For a few seconds there I really thought he was going to kill both of them. According to Sam, Dad has only lost it like that once before."

"When?" Joe asked curious, never having witnessed his father's temper first hand.

"The night they brought down Tilghman's operation. Sam said when Dad saw what Tilghman had done to you, he really did almost kill the guy with his bare hands."

Slowing to a walk as Frank had done, Joe became quiet thinking about what Frank said and frowned. "So, my getting in trouble – big trouble – is the one thing that pushes Dad over the edge?"

"No," Frank corrected him, "when Dad thinks he's failed to keep you safe it pushes him over the edge."

Fully expecting Joe to take the blame for inspiring his father's temper, Frank was surprised when Joe smiled.

"Well, now we know where _you_ get it from," Joe said sardonically, throwing Frank's teasing words back at him.

Frank's surprised reaction gave Joe just enough time to jump out of the way avoiding a playful slap from his brother.

oooOOOooo

Having showered and changed, Frank stepped out of the bathroom. He saw Callie sitting on the couch staring out the glass doors of the balcony and smiled. He settled on the couch and pulled her into his arms. "Hey, Babe."

"Hi." Callie settled back against his chest without making eye contact.

Frowning, Frank put a finger under her chin and gently turned her face towards him. Seeing her red-rimmed eyes filled with sadness, his concern grew. "Cal, honey, what's wrong?"

Staring into his deep brown eyes, Callie heard Frank's voice in her head, as it had sounded so long ago.

_"I, Franklin Davis Hardy, take you Callie Lyn Shaw, to be my lawfully wedded wife. For better or worse…"_

'_For better or worse,'_ she thought sadly. _'How much worse does it get?'_

Callie wanted so badly to share her fears with Frank and have him convince her she was overreacting. She opened her mouth to speak and slowly closed it again without uttering a word. Thinking back over the past week, each member of the Hardy family had started to unravel at one point or another – except Frank. He'd been the glue that held them all together. He'd kept Joe from falling over the edge when Fenton, Laura and Vanessa found they were barely able to hang on themselves. Frank had given each of them a hand to hold onto when they needed it most. His calming influence never wavered as he kept his own anger buried deep inside. _'I can't dump this on him now.'_ Although now more than ever, she wanted to feel Frank's calming influence herself.

Sighing, she gave Frank what was obviously a forced smile. "I'm just not used to seeing your Dad so…emotional. It just threw me, that's all. But I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me." Leaning back, she kissed him on the cheek.

"Are you sure?" Frank pressed, unconvinced. "There's nothing else bothering you?"

"I'm sure," Callie lied, promising herself it would only be temporary. _'Joe needs him more than I do right now. When this is all over, when we're home, I'll tell him.'_

"Callie…" Frank began only to be silenced when Callie pressed a finger to his lips.

"I'm fine. Really." She punctuated it with a kiss. "Now go meet with Joe and your Dad."

Still unconvinced, Frank knew he wouldn't get anything more from Callie until and unless she was ready to tell him. Reluctantly he stood and left the room. Standing out in the hall, he stared at the closed door unable to shake the heartbreaking sadness he'd seen in her eyes. He'd been staring so hard his vision had started to blur when a hand appeared in front of his face.

"Man, what planet are you on?" Frank heard Joe's voice, tinged with amusement.

"Huh? What?" Frank turned to his brother, relieved to see the smile on Joe's face and in his eyes.

"I don't know where you were, but it wasn't here," Joe laughed. "I called you three times and you never even blinked."

"Sorry," Frank smiled sheepishly. "You ready to meet with Dad?"

Joe shrugged as if to say, _"Don't have much choice,"_ and followed Frank to the sunroom.

As soon as they entered, Joe stopped short. Fenton Hardy was staring out the window into the darkness unaware of their presence. Turning, Joe glanced at Frank questioningly. Getting a silent nod, Joe approached their father.

"Dad?"

Fenton turned, startled, and stared at Joe for a moment with a strange look in his eyes.

"Dad?" Joe repeated. "You okay?"

Fenton stared at Joe a moment longer and then reached out, squeezing his younger son's shoulder.

"I'm fine, Joe, but thank you for asking." He smiled leading Joe to the couch, where Frank was already seated and then took a seat himself. Shuffling the papers in front of him, Fenton looked up into Joe's expectant blue eyes, ready to receive whatever bad news Fenton had to dish out this time. Suddenly hating himself for coming up with this brilliant idea, Fenton had an overwhelming urge to take Joe and simply leave. Leave the hotel, leave Chicago, leave all the pain behind.

Frank could almost feel the anxiety coming off Joe, who was wondering who this stranger sitting across from them was and what had happened to his composed, unflappable, cool-in-any-situation father.

"Who does Handling plan to call tomorrow?" Frank hoped he was giving Fenton the opening he obviously couldn't find himself.

"Sydney Greene and Dr. Marston," Fenton finally answered. "He's going to have Sydney go over what she told us when Joe was still in surgery and after your mother and the girls arrived." He stopped, looking at Joe for a moment. "Ironically, you're the only one who will be hearing this for the first time. After Sydney is done, he's going to ask Marston to describe the surgery he performed on you, exactly what he had to do to save your life and go over your first few days of recovery."

Fenton sighed and looked at Joe as if he'd let him down. "I'm sorry, Joe. There are so many things Handling could exploit I have no idea how to prepare you for this."

Joe frowned for just a moment as he heard Frank's voice in his head_. "When Dad thinks he's failed to keep you safe it pushes him over the edge."_

Joe pasted a reassuring smile on his face as he met his father's eyes. "I think you just did, Dad. Tomorrow, I'll be prepared for anything."

"I hope so," Fenton replied soberly, "because as soon as Marston is done, Handling plans to call you as the final witness. That could conceivably happen as early as tomorrow afternoon."

Joe's smile faltered and then disappeared completely as he realized his own private hell could begin in less than twenty-four hours.


	15. Chapter 15

Thanks to all those who reviewed and thank you to everyone who is reading. :-)

**Chapter 15**

Joe stood at the sink in the courthouse restroom and glanced at his watch. The lunch recess called after Sydney Greene had completed her testimony was almost over. Dr. Marston would be called as soon as court reconvened for the afternoon and then…

Joe shook the thought from his mind, unable to dwell on it for even a second. Suddenly, getting up on the witness stand and describing every beating and abuse he'd suffered was too terrifying to even acknowledge.

Looking up, Joe studied his reflection in the mirror and scowled in disgust. Sleep had eluded him most of the night. When he finally did manage to doze off, Joe found himself endlessly reliving the night of torture he so desperately wanted to forget. His normally sparkling blue eyes seemed almost glazed over and the dark circles underneath only served to call attention to that fact.

Leaning over the sink, Joe closed his eyes and splashed cold water on his face. Straightening up, he saw Frank's reflection behind him in the mirror. Reaching over his shoulder, Joe silently accepted the paper towel Frank offered and used it to pat his face dry.

"You okay?" Frank asked quietly. He was smiling but the concern in his deep brown eyes was abundantly clear. Joe had seemed fine, albeit tired, when they'd left for the courthouse that morning. Now however, he was sending off signals of fear Frank hadn't felt since they were small children.

Joe automatically started to respond in his customary manner, saying he was fine even when he was on the verge of total meltdown, convinced he could handle everything on his own. However, something in the look on his brother's face stopped him. He'd been leaning on Frank heavily the last few months to try and prepare himself for the trial and Frank hadn't let him down once.

Still, Joe hesitated. It had only been in the last few minutes that he admitted to himself he was scared – terrified – knowing he would probably have to at least begin his testimony before the day was out. Somehow it had been a whole lot easier to deal with, when telling a room full of strangers how he'd been beaten, tortured and abused was still something that would happen 'one day soon.' Now that the day was here, Joe wasn't at all sure he could do it.

Contemplating Frank's question, Joe wadded the paper towel into a ball and effortlessly shot it into the trashcan across the room.

"A three pointer," Frank murmured appreciatively, "but you still haven't answered my question. Are you okay?"

Joe sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I'd be a lot better if I knew for sure I didn't have to testify until tomorrow." He looked at Frank unable to hide the fear in his eyes. "I'm scared, Frank. I don't think I'm ready to do this."

The feeling was upon Frank so fast it took him completely by surprise. Anger. Hatred. The overpowering need for revenge. For what seemed like the millionth time he silently cursed Keith Rashman, vowing some kind of payback, before burying those feelings under concern for his brother.

Leaning against the counter next to Joe, Frank reached out and lightly rested his hand on Joe's back. The move was automatic and instinctive now, seeming to go unnoticed by the brothers, yet bringing a sense of comfort to both of them.

Out of the corner of his eye Frank studied his brother for a moment, his heart twisting at the image confronting him. Joe's eyes were glued to the floor and when Frank had reached out to him, Joe had automatically moved an inch or so closer to his older brother without even realizing it. Frank was reminded of Joe's first day of kindergarten when he'd sought solace and protection from his big brother after a day of torment at the hands of the school bullies.

'_Scared and vulnerable,'_ Frank thought achingly. _'Different bully this time, but the result is the same.' _

Frank wished he could handle the problem exactly as he had all those years ago – punch out the bully, instill the fear of God in him if he ever dared go near Joe again and be done with it. Problem solved. _'If only…'_

"You _are_ ready, Joe," Frank finally said, his voice low but exuding confidence in his brother. "You're a hell of a lot tougher than he is. You've already proven that just by surviving, no matter what he did to you." Feeling Joe shudder slightly, Frank rubbed his back comfortingly. "It's okay to be scared, but remember everything we talked about. I'll be right there with you every step of the way. And if the monsters get too tough to handle," Frank gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "just pass them off to me. I'll take care of them for you."

Joe gazed at the floor a moment longer contemplating Franks words of advice. Finally, Joe looked up at his brother with unabashed admiration.

_"And if the monsters get too tough to handle just pass them off to me. I'll take care of them for you."_

'_Just like you always do,'_ Joe thought as he flashed the ghost of a smile.

"I'll remember," he said softly, pushing himself away from the counter. "Let's go."

oooOOOooo

Joe looked at the clock nervously as he half listened to Dr. Marston describing the emergency surgery he'd performed on Joe at the hospital. The doctor testified that Joe had been so close to death upon arriving in the E.R., he didn't wait for approval from the family. He'd simply rushed Joe to surgery and hoped he could save Joe's life.

Joe had become distracted early on in Marston's testimony, realizing he'd finish rather quickly, leaving ample time for Handling to at least begin questioning Joe. Despite being only vaguely aware of Marston's voice on a conscious level, Joe's subconscious had apparently been paying very close attention. As soon as Marston had mentioned his concern that Joe's arm had become infected and required a second debriding process several days after surgery, Joe had instinctively grabbed his left arm and pulled it close to him protectively.

As fate would have it that was the exact moment Keith Rashman turned to look at Joe. He smiled brazenly, apparently happy to know he'd caused Joe further pain even after he'd been rescued and treated for his injuries. While Joe was oblivious to Rashman's gaze, Frank was not, locking eyes with the man he despised. When Rashman smirked at him, it took all the self-control Frank possessed and then some not to launch himself out of the chair and kill Rashman on the spot.

Still clutching his arm a short while later, Joe heard his name being called and jumped. His eyes momentarily widened in terror as he felt every person in the courtroom staring at him intently. He felt Vanessa kiss his cheek and heard her sniffle as she sat back in her chair. As it hit him that she was about to hear every gory detail of his twenty-four hours in hell, Joe panicked. He was giving serious thought to grabbing her and fleeing the courtroom when he heard Frank's voice, quiet and confident.

"Remember, I'm right here," Frank said reaching out and patting Joe on the shoulder as he stood up.

Joe nodded gratefully, knowing for a fact he would need to take Frank up on his offer. Glancing at his parents, Joe saw the pain in their eyes despite the smiles of encouragement on their faces. Stepping past Callie, who squeezed his hand in support, Joe emerged into the aisle. Remembering his father's words of advice, Joe completely ignored Rashman as he walked to the witness stand.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?" the bailiff asked.

"I do," Joe replied, relieved to hear his voice was calm and steady as he sat down.

Peter Handling stood and walked forward stopping directly in front of Joe. "Good afternoon, Joe."

"Good afternoon," Joe replied, not at all happy about the seemingly predatory gleam in the man's eyes.

"Joe, do you recall where you were at approximately five p.m. on May 15th of this year?"

Joe resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the question. "Yes. I was at O'Hare airport waiting to board a flight home to Bayport."

"But you never boarded that flight, did you?" Handling couldn't hide a tiny smile.

"No," Joe replied thinking Handling was enjoying this way too much. _'I'm supposed to be the victim, for God's sake!'_

"The gate agent on duty that evening has already testified that she spoke with you and issued you a boarding pass. She also testified that she observed you make a phone call and then walk towards the restroom. She then told the court she never saw you again. Can you tell us _exactly_ what happened once you entered the restroom?" Handling asked theatrically, emphasizing the word 'exactly'.

For the first time in his life, Joe wished he weren't the center of attention. The weight of the stares was crushing and he found himself wishing the floor would open up and swallow him when he heard the voice that never failed to keep him grounded.

_"Remember, I'm right here."_

Joe sought out his older brother and locked onto his deep brown eyes, amazed at the feeling of security that one simple gesture provided.

"After I called Vanessa to confirm my arrival time with her, I went to the restroom," Joe began easily. "When I went in I was the only one in there. I went all the way to the stall on the end. Right after I locked the door, I heard someone enter the one next to me and an envelope came flying over the partition. The guy said, _"Here's the down payment along with your instructions. You'll get the rest of the money when the job is complete."_ And then he left.

"I opened the envelope and saw the money and two sheets of paper. One was a picture of Senator Hurley and the other had all the instructions for his assassination. I knew my flight was boarding so I put everything back in the envelope and stuck it in my shirt. I figured I'd show it to my father and brother when I got home and we'd decide what to do together. But when I got to the entrance of the restroom I saw Keith Rashman and his partner standing across the hall."

Joe was mindful of the fact that he was not permitted to mention Dennis Malick by name. Matthew Barning had tried to get all mention of a second assailant barred knowing the jurors would wonder why, if Rashman truly were insane, this second assailant didn't try to stop him. Handling was able to convince the judge that not allowing Joe to at least mention the existence of a second assailant would be akin to perjury. The judge had ruled that while Malick could never be mentioned by name, his presence could be alluded to but only when absolutely necessary.

"Did you know who Mr. Rashman was at the time?" Handling asked.

"No. But it was obvious he and his partner were looking for someone. His partner was watching people walking by and Mr. Rashman never took his eyes off the door of the restroom," Joe almost choked at having to refer to Rashman as "Mister." "I assumed one of them threw the envelope and afterwards realized the person who got it wasn't their contact and now they wanted it back. No one else had come into the restroom, and there was no way I could leave without being seen."

"So essentially you were trapped. Cornered. No way out." Handling paraphrased, as he paced in front of the jury.

"Yeah, pretty much," Joe agreed. "They hadn't seen me yet so I went back into the restroom. I hid the envelope under the trashcan in the handicapped stall and then I called Frank. By then I had a pretty good idea I wouldn't be leaving Chicago voluntarily and wanted to give him some idea of what was going on and where to start looking for me.

"When I started to walk out of the restroom Rashman and his partner were coming in. They weren't really paying attention to me and I guess I hoped for a second that they didn't realize I had been the only one in there. But I ended up walking right into their trap."

Joe stopped as a movement to Frank's right caught his eye. Vanessa sat with her head bowed, obviously trying to wipe her eyes without being seen, stopping Joe dead in his tracks.

'_I can't do this with her here. I can't upset her,'_ Joe thought panicking. _'She's already crying and I haven't even gotten started!'_

"Joe?" Handling said, when Joe remained silent. Stepping closer to the witness stand, the D.A. stood directly in front of Joe, blocking his view of Vanessa… and Frank. "Joe? Do you need to stop for a moment?"

"No," Joe answered his voice starting to shake. "Could - could you move out of the way please?" he requested softly. Unable to see Frank or the rest of his family, Joe felt isolated and alone and started to panic.

"Of course," Handling quickly complied, noting the way Joe immediately relaxed once he was able to make eye contact with his brother.

"Mr. Rashman stepped aside to let me pass. As soon as he was behind me, his partner pulled a gun on me." Ignoring the muffled sob from Vanessa, Joe pressed on. "Mr. Rashman grabbed me around the throat and started choking me. He pulled me back a few steps, so we were out of sight of anyone in the corridor."

Another muffled sob ripped away a small piece of his heart.

"They asked me what I did with the envelope and I told them I didn't know what they were talking about. His partner frisked me and when he didn't find it, they asked me again where it was. I kept telling them I didn't know what they were talking about. Mr. Rashman spun me around so I was facing him and his partner pushed the gun into my back, forcing me back into the restroom. They asked me again where the envelope was."

Another movement from the front row and Joe saw his mother cover her mouth with one hand, while the other was tightly clutching Fenton's arm.

"I kept trying to convince them they had the wrong guy but they didn't believe me. We heard someone coming into the restroom and that's when they decided to take me with them and 'beat it' out of me."

Although Laura was openly crying now, Vanessa still hadn't looked up.

"I was looking for some way to escape and never saw his fist coming."

"Whose fist?" Handling asked, seeing Joe was losing his focus, distracted by his mother and fiancée.

"Rashman. He knocked me out with one shot." Unable to stop himself, Joe's eyes darted to the defense table. Rashman was staring at him, smiling. "That's the last thing I remember at the airport. When I came to it was dark. My jacket, shirt, socks and shoes had been removed and I was chained to a fence."

Still another sob was heard in the quiet of the courtroom.

"What was your first thought when you realized what had happened?" Handling asked. He knew the judge was going to declare court closed for the day any minute and wanted the jury's final impression to be a lasting one.

"I remember noticing how many stars I could see in the sky and how that was not a good thing." Joe shivered at the memory.

"Why?" Handling kept digging despite Joe's obvious discomfort.

"Because it meant we were so far out in the middle of nowhere that… that no one would hear me scream," Joe finished his voice growing softer with each word.

Looking past the D.A., Joe's eyes were drawn to his fiancée. His heart ached as Vanessa finally looked up at him. She had clearly tried her best not to cry… and failed miserably.


	16. Chapter 16

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**Chapter** **16**

Not a word was spoken during the ride back to the hotel. As Frank drove, he surreptitiously surveyed his family in the mirror and realized none of them was truly prepared to hear what Joe went through in his own words.

'_No one but me.'_

Frank thought back over the past four months and the countless times he'd listened to Joe describe his living hell. As hard as it was for Frank to hear, he knew it was the reason he was the only one who came through Joe's opening testimony relatively unscathed.

Frank glanced at Vanessa seated in the back between Joe and Laura. She held Joe's hand tightly in hers but stared, unblinking and glassy-eyed, out the front windshield. Physically, she was right there by Joe's side. Mentally and emotionally, Frank couldn't even hazard a guess as to where she might be.

Seated to Vanessa's right, Laura didn't appear much better. Every few minutes she would blink rapidly fighting back tears she was determined Joe wouldn't see. Fenton, in the front passenger seat, looked as if he'd aged ten years in one day. Frank couldn't help but remember how strong his father had been while they were searching for Joe and those first few days Joe was in the hospital. Frank had been so caught up in his own grief and anger he hadn't given his father a second thought. It suddenly became a little easier for Frank to understand why Fenton had chosen to block everything out once they returned to Bayport. Being the rock his family needed at the time had taken everything Fenton had to give.

A quick glance at Callie caused Frank to frown. That same haunted look he'd seen on her face and in her eyes last night was back stronger than ever. Sadness so deep Frank felt it in his soul. He had a feeling hearing about Joe's painful ordeal firsthand was only part of it. Whatever else was bothering her Frank couldn't even begin to imagine, frustrating him no end.

Pulling into a space in the hotel's garage, the car doors flew open before Frank had even turned the engine off. It was as if the occupants couldn't wait to escape the confined space that had become so filled with tension and sorrow.

Taking Callie's hand, Frank trailed behind his parents, Joe and Vanessa. Sighing inwardly, he wondered if all the progress he'd made the past week – keeping Joe occupied and grounded; picking up the pieces when Fenton couldn't do it anymore; simply keeping his family from self-destructing – had just been wiped out in one heartbreaking afternoon.

oooOOOooo

Joe opened the door to the suite, holding it for Laura and Vanessa. He watched as Vanessa disappeared down the hall to their bedroom so fast she was almost a blur.

"Excuse me," he mumbled to his family and quickly followed.

Walking into the bedroom, Joe shut the door behind him. Following the muted sounds, Joe found Vanessa on the couch in the sitting room, hunched over with her face in her hands, crying. Hearing him enter, Vanessa looked up at Joe, tears staining her face.

"I'm sorry. I'll be stronger tomorrow. I promise," Vanessa said, her voice catching. "I just…I didn't realize…I wasn't…prepared…"

Joe stood watching her, raking a hand through his blonde hair in frustration.

"I don't _want_ you to be stronger tomorrow, Van. I don't _want_ you to be prepared," he replied trying to keep his voice steady. "I don't want you there at all!"

"B-but I _have_ to be there," Vanessa hiccupped trying to get the tears under control.

"Why?!" Joe cried out, distressed. "Why do you _have_ to be there?"

"To support you. To help you-"

"Damn it, Van, that doesn't help!" Joe paced, feeling his anger rise and trying to quash it. "Don't you get it?! It's hard enough for me to relive it. I don't want you to relive it with me!" Joe gestured wildly with his hands, growing more agitated by the second.

Seeing Joe was on the verge of losing control, Vanessa reached out and grabbed his arm as he passed in front of her. With a gentle tug, she got him to take a seat on the edge of the coffee table.

"You were all alone the first time it happened," she said softly, taking his hands in hers. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against Joe's. "I just don't want you to be alone when you have to go through it again."

Joe closed his eyes, taking a minute to compose himself. He knew hearing the details of the gruesome acts of torture he'd endured would eat away at her heart and soul. This afternoon was proof of that. Still she was willing to do it for him. Opening his eyes, Joe stared at her, much calmer now.

"I won't be alone. Frank will be there. And he already knows…everything…we've talked about it a lot. Dad will be there too."

Sitting back, Joe continued staring into the blue-gray eyes, wishing he could drown in them and never have to face this again. "Watching you die a little more with every word I say is going to kill me, Van. Can't you see that? Please, if you really want to help me," Joe begged his eyes pleading, "stay here tomorrow."

…

As Vanessa listened to Joe's impassioned plea, a little voice in the back of her mind told her maybe he was right. Had her attempts to be there for Joe, no matter what, become an obsession? Had she lost her focus and lost sight of what was really best for Joe in her determination to make a point of standing by him no matter what? She could easily see her reaction to the brief testimony she heard today had shaken him as much as the testimony itself had shaken her. Did she really want to know every single detail of the abuse Joe had suffered?

Confused and conflicted, Vanessa suddenly had no idea what was best for Joe – or herself. But she couldn't make the promise Joe wanted to hear unless she was sure.

"I'll…I'll sleep on it," Vanessa said softly, deciding that was the best she could do at the moment.

"Thank you." Joe pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.

While she hadn't agreed to stay at the hotel, it was the first time she agreed to consider it and Joe would happily take any victory he could get – no matter how small.

oooOOOooo

In dark contrast to previous evenings, the mood in the penthouse was decidedly somber. Listening to others describe Joe's nightmarish ordeal was one thing. Hearing Joe tell it was something entirely different. The undercurrent of fear in his voice and pain in his eyes had been devastating to his family – more so than they had ever thought possible.

Like Vanessa, Laura had sought refuge in her bedroom the second they had arrived back at the hotel. Shaken and distraught, she shunned Fenton's repeated efforts to get her to come out for dinner or at least allow him to order room service for her. Insisting she wanted to be alone, she emerged only once, ostensibly to check on Joe and make sure he was all right. In reality, her imagination had gotten the better of her and she needed to see for herself that her youngest son was indeed safely ensconced in his own bedroom and not chained to a fence somewhere in the wilderness.

With Joe and Vanessa holed up in their room and Laura refusing to leave hers, it was a quiet meal for Callie, Frank and Fenton. After several minutes of very strained after-dinner conversation, the three decided it was best just to turn in early.

Following Callie down the hall to their bedroom, Frank hesitated in the doorway. Glancing to his left Frank stared at the closed door at the end of the hall.

"Why don't you go check on him?" Callie said quietly. "Make sure he's okay."

Turning back to his wife, Frank gazed at her and smiled. Sometimes it still amazed him how well she understood him.

"I'll only be a minute." He leaned down and kissed her.

Continuing down the hall, Frank stopped at the closed door and listened. Hearing nothing at all, he knocked softly. A few seconds later the door opened to reveal Joe in sweatpants and a t-shirt, clutching the latest issue of _Sports Illustrated._

"Shhh," Joe whispered, putting a finger to his lips. "Van's asleep."

Frank nodded shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight, suddenly self-conscious.

After a moment of awkward silence, Joe gave him a lopsided grin. "Soooo…did you want something?"

Frank returned the grin realizing it was pretty silly to start beating around the bush now. "Yeah, I wanted to make sure _you_ were okay. I know you really didn't want Van to hear any of that."

Joe considered Frank's words for a moment before responding with a slow nod. "I'm okay."

"You sure?" Frank asked, not believing his brother for a minute.

"Yeah. Vanessa said she'd consider staying here tomorrow." The lopsided grin returned along with a glimmer of hope in the deep blue eyes.

"Really? How'd you convince her?"

Joe smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Would you believe I lost my temper?"

"No! _You_?!" Frank replied in mock-horror.

"Hard to believe, huh?" Joe chuckled. "But I guess it shook her up a little. She agreed to at least consider not going. That's a start."

"Good. She doesn't really need to hear it," Frank agreed. "Listen, if you think it would help if I spoke to her tomorrow…" he let the offer hang in the air.

"I'll let you know," Joe assured him. "And thanks."

"No problem. Goodnight."

"Night." Joe shut the door and returned to stretch out on the couch once more.

Opening the magazine, he tried to focus on the article he'd been reading and block out the images of burning logs, swinging chains and stinging scorpions that were seared into his memory.

oooOOOooo

"NOOOOOOO!"

Joe shot up in bed as the scream tore through his heart. Next to him, Vanessa was sitting up staring wide-eyed into space. Her face was a mask of terror and tears were streaming down her face unchecked.

"Van?" Joe touched her shoulder, unsure if she even knew he was there.

With a gasp, Vanessa pulled away but only for a second. Quickly realizing where she was, Vanessa threw her arms around Joe's neck and sobbed on his shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay, Baby. Just a bad dream. I'm right here; you're completely safe," Joe said comfortingly, thinking Vanessa was having a nightmare about the rape. They had diminished considerably over the past eleven months but came back stronger than ever when Vanessa was stressed or upset.

"N-no," she hiccupped, holding on to Joe as if her life depended on it. "It w-was you."

"Me?" Joe asked, confused.

Just then, Joe heard the sounds of doors opening and closing and footsteps in the hall, followed by a muffled voice he recognized as Frank.

"Joe? Everything okay?"

"Fine," Joe called out as Vanessa tightened her grip on him. "Go back to bed."

He heard more muffled voices and then retreating footsteps. As Vanessa continued to cry, Joe held her tightly. "You wanna talk about it?"

Vanessa shook her head furiously, then apparently thought better of it and nodded slowly.

"You w-were chained to a fence. I was there, and F-frank and your parents…even Callie," Vanessa stuttered and stammered, unable to shake the sounds and images. "You were begging us to help you. I tried. I tried so hard to reach you, but I couldn't…we couldn't…" Vanessa stopped as tears overwhelmed her again. "We c-couldn't get to you…oh, God, Joe you died! Right in front of me, you died!"

"I'm not dead!" Joe said forcefully, holding her as close as he possibly could, wishing it could be closer. "I'm right here with you. I'm fine," he said soothingly, stroking her hair. "Just fine."

Several minutes passed before Vanessa loosened her arms and sat back. Staring up at Joe, she could see him smiling at her by the moonlight streaming in through the glass doors on the balcony. Reaching up with a shaking hand, she touched his cheek lightly as if to confirm his presence.

"You're here. You're all right."

"I'm all right," Joe repeated calmly.

He lay back down on the bed pulling Vanessa down with him. As she rested her head on his shoulder, Joe continued to stroke her hair and murmur words of comfort until her breathing slowed and the shudders stopped, letting him know she was asleep once again. Sighing, he looked at the clock on the bedside table knowing he'd be up the rest of the night haunted by his own nightmares.

oooOOOooo

Reluctantly, Joe turned off the hot water and stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he used another to dry his tousled blonde hair. Emerging from the bathroom, he was surprised to see Vanessa up and dressed – in jeans and a sweater. Taking in her slightly swollen eyes complete with dark circles underneath, he knew whatever sleep she had managed to get wasn't exactly restful.

"I'm not going," Vanessa announced softly.

Joe exhaled, feeling the tension drain away. He took two strides and pulled her into his arms.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Believe me, this is the best thing you can do to help me."

Vanessa stood in his warm, slightly wet embrace for several minutes. The nightmare had been so real, she was afraid to let Joe out of her grasp; afraid she might never see him again.

"You'll call me when you get a break?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely," Joe reassured her. Stepping back, he looked into the eyes he loved so much. Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the lips. "Thanks, Babe."

"Guess I'll have to find something to amuse myself, huh?" Vanessa gave a shaky laugh as she wiped an errant tear from her cheek.

"Hmmm…maybe I can help you with that." Joe smiled as he hastily grabbed the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd been wearing the night before which were now thrown in a heap on the floor. "Be right back," he called over his shoulder as he hurried out of the room.

Joe stopped and knocked on the closed door in front of him. Seconds later it swung open.

"Hey, Joe," Callie greeted him as she pulled the door open wider. "Frank's in the shower, but he'll be out in a minute if you want to wait."

Joe followed Callie into the room. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you. I need a favor."

"Sure, anything," Callie replied. As horrible as it had been for her to listen to what Joe had been through, and despite the doubts and fears it had raised for her, she knew today was going to be the worst day yet for Joe. With that in the front of her mind, she was eager to do anything that might make it easier for him.

"Vanessa agreed not to attend the trial today," Joe began obviously relieved. "But I don't want her to be alone." He hesitated a moment, not quite sure who Frank had been speaking to when he'd knocked on the door in the middle of the night. "She had a pretty bad nightmare last night…"

"Yeah, I heard," Callie said softly. "Is she okay?"

"I think she's still a little spooked. And I don't want her to be alone today. Would you mind skipping the trial and staying here with her?"

"If that's what you want, of course I will," Callie agreed immediately. _'Thank you!'_ she sent out a silent prayer. She herself had been up most of the night after being awakened by Vanessa's bloodcurdling scream. The hours dragged slowly, giving her ample time to obsess on the question of whether or not her future included the children she so badly wanted.

"Thanks, _Sis_," Joe said gratefully. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

"You know," Frank drawled as he walked into the room, "if I were the jealous type and I walked in on my brother kissing my wife, I'd put two and two together and come up with-"

"Five," Joe finished for him as he walked towards the door. "Thanks, Cal…for everything." He winked and disappeared down the hall.

"So," Frank began teasingly as he approached Callie and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, "you're having a steamy, torrid affair with my little brother, huh?"

"Yeah, but don't spread it around. We're trying to keep it a secret," Callie replied mischievously.

"My lips are sealed," Frank promised, leaning down for a kiss of his own.

"Vanessa isn't going to the trial today," Callie began to explain, once Frank released her.

"Good. Hearing him describe what he went through will only upset her. He barely got started yesterday and she was a wreck."

"And the more upset she gets, the more stressed out he gets," Callie completed his thought.

"Exactly."

"Um…he asked me to stay with her today. You don't mind, do you?" Callie asked nervously. Would Frank want her there to offer _him_ moral support?

"Mind?!" Frank whirled around to face her, surprise written all over his face. "Of course not! I wasn't too crazy about you hearing Joe's testimony either. I'll feel much better knowing you're here with Vanessa rather than in court listening to what that animal did to him," he finished, his anger quickly rising to the surface.

"What about you?" Callie asked concerned. Those sudden flashes of anger had been increasing in frequency and duration, leading Callie to believe Frank was starting to snap under the strain.

"What about me?" Frank parried somewhat defensively. "I'll be fine. I can handle it. Besides, I've heard it all before."

'_That's what worries me,'_ Callie thought, as Frank finished getting dressed.

She had seen Frank's hatred for Keith Rashman and his burning desire to somehow avenge Joe's suffering grow with each passing day. Noting her husband's sudden lapse into a moody silence, Callie wondered how many times Frank could listen to Joe describe the savage brutality he had lived through before Frank finally cracked.

'_Everyone has a breaking point, Baby,'_ Callie mused sadly. _'Even you.'_


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Thank you to Phx for making me laugh out loud – a LOT! – by pointing out an error that has been sitting there for about four or five years and that no one mentioned to me before! ROTFL! I dunno, I'm liking the idea of Joe striding down the hall to talk to Callie in nothing but a towel! ;-)

Many, many thanks to everyone who left a review and thank you to all those who are continuing to read this story. :-)

**Chapter 17**

"Well?" Joe asked hopefully as Frank entered the sunroom.

"Sorry, bro," Frank said apologetically. "She said no."

Joe abruptly turned away, not wanting Frank to see the disappointment in his eyes. "Thanks for trying," he mumbled.

Having finally gotten Vanessa to see the light, Joe had hoped he might be able to convince Laura to skip the day's proceedings as well. Frank had found him nervously pacing in front of his parents door and guessed what Joe had in mind. When Frank confirmed it and suggested he be the one to talk to their mother, Joe jumped at the offer and retreated to the sunroom to await Laura's answer.

Watching Joe stare at the floor, dejected, Frank cursed his mother's stubborn streak – the very same one Joe had inherited. Just as Frank was about to turn around and make a second attempt, he heard Fenton's subdued voice.

"Boys? It's time to go."

Joe turned and left the room, his eyes glued to the floor, never uttering a word.

oooOOOooo

Laura Hardy sat clutching her husband's hand so tightly her fingers were numb. Joe had just finished describing how Rashman's partner had hit him in the face, knowing full well Joe could have a broken jaw and punched him in the stomach when Joe feigned ignorance. He was beginning to relate the first of the savage acts of abuse Keith Rashman had subjected him to when Laura got the first inkling that maybe she should have listened to Frank's impassioned plea that morning.

_"Please, Mom, Joe really wants you to stay here with Vanessa and Callie," Frank begged on his brother's behalf._

_"That may be what he __wants__**, **__but what he __needs__ is unconditional love and support," Laura countered._

"He knows you love him unconditionally. And Dad and I will be there to support him."

_"No, Frank. I'm going and that's final," she said stubbornly._

_"Why?" Frank asked in frustration._

_Laura blinked rapidly, her blue eyes shining brightly. "Because he's my baby," she whispered._

"What did Mr. Rashman do then?" Peter Handling's voice filtered through to Laura.

She gazed at Joe as he took a deep breath, so obviously struggling with the memory.

'_My baby,'_ she thought sadly, wishing she could wave a magic wand and make all the pain disappear.

"He pulled a piece of wood – burning wood – out of the campfire," Joe replied.

"By burning wood you mean it was flaming?" Handling asked for clarification.

"Yes," Joe said, the slightest tremor in his voice. "He held the flame right against my arm."

"Like this?" Handling asked as he theatrically waved a Polaroid picture in front of Joe.

Joe flinched back and then continued, his voice much softer now. "Yes. I tried to pull away, but I couldn't move." He stopped and stared at the picture a moment longer, before turning away. Instinctively, Joe looked towards Frank as he always did when he needed support.

…

As Joe spoke, his words ignited the fiery thirst for revenge that had been raging inside Frank for months now. Despite what he was feeling inside, Frank forced himself to stay calm, determined not to let Joe see how angry he was. Right now, Joe needed the brother he always depended on, the brother who was calm, cool, collected and in control no matter what the crisis. Not the brother who was consumed with thoughts of murder and revenge.

…

"And how many times did he bring the flame in contact with your arm?" Handling asked as he slowly paraded in front of the jury, holding the very disturbing picture at arm's length, making sure everyone got a good look at it.

"Four or five times," Joe replied, now fixated on his brother, who nodded at him supportively.

"Four or five times?" Handling repeated sounding shocked. "How long was that, time-wise? How many minutes were you exposed to the pain of an open flame being held against your skin?"

"A-a few minutes. Two or three. I'm not positive," Joe replied his eyes haunted at the recollection.

As Joe spoke, Handling produced more pictures of Keith Rashman holding the burning log against Joe's skin. A muffled cry was heard as the courtroom turned deathly quiet. Suddenly the abuse Joe suffered was no longer in the jury's imagination, but staring them in the face.

"Did Mr. Rashman burn you anywhere else?"

"No."

"Were you aware that he had taken these pictures?" Handling now held them at arm's length towards the seating area, allowing for a quick glimpse of the inhumane act of violence to anyone who chose to look.

A horrified gasp echoed through the room followed by muted sobs. Without even looking everyone present knew it was Laura Hardy.

Joe tried to block out his mother's anguished cry. He leaned forward taking a quick look at the pictures and pointed to the one where he was leaning his head back against the post.

"No, not until he took this one. My arm hurt. It was throbbing. I…I was trying to focus on the stars…to block out the pain." Joe faltered for the first time as the memory hit him full force. Immediately he pulled his arm towards his chest, holding it tightly.

"Then I saw the flash. He told me I was going to become part of his resume. He said he always took pictures. He liked to send a photo to the family… as a memento." Joe closed his eyes remembering the all-encompassing terror that Laura or Vanessa would be subjected to that picture without warning. And now it was happening right in front of him.

"What happened after that?"

"They sat down in front of the fire and had dinner," Joe said, as a few murmurs of disbelief were heard.

"They sat down and had _dinner_?!" the D.A. repeated, incredulous as he faced the jury.

"Yes."

"I don't suppose they offered you any," he queried.

"No. Not that it mattered. My arm hurt so badly it was all I could think about – trying to block out the pain," Joe replied quietly.

Unable to take anymore, Laura stood up, tears streaming down her face and fled the courtroom. Fenton rose, hastily whispered something to Frank and quickly followed his wife amid loud whispers of sympathy from the other spectators.

"This court will recess for fifteen minutes," the judge announced abruptly. Standing he quickly retreated to his chambers.

Startled Joe looked first at Handling and then back at Frank. Seeing his brother motioning to him, Joe practically flew off the witness stand to Frank's side.

Putting one arm around Joe's shoulders, Frank shielded him from the curious stares and gawkers. Knowing Joe was about to self-destruct, Frank quickly ushered him to the secluded room where they had eaten lunch every day. As soon as the door closed behind them, Joe whirled to face his brother, clearly upset.

"I can't do this, Frank, I can't!" Joe was obviously panicking, distressed at both Handling's enjoyment of his painful ordeal and Laura's hasty retreat from the courtroom.

Frank caught his brother's arm as Joe tried to turn away. "You _can_, Joe. You can do this, I _know_ you can."

"No…" Joe replied, anguished.

"_Yes_," Frank said forcefully, knowing the case against Rashman would probably fall apart completely if Joe didn't testify. He could be back on the streets and gunning for Joe before they even made it back to Bayport. "Listen to me. When you get back up on that stand you look at me – _ME_ – and no one else. Right here," Frank pointed to his own deep brown eyes for emphasis. "Don't look at anyone else. Don't even blink. You pretend we're sitting on top of that jungle gym in the park just talking – like we did all summer."

Joe shook his head vigorously. "It won't work. I know it won't."

"It will if you believe it will," Frank replied with conviction.

Joe stared at his brother. "You…you really think so?" he asked, afraid to get his hopes up, yet convinced he couldn't get through it any other way.

"Absolutely. It'll just be you and me, alone, talking. Don't look at Handling or Dad or Mom… especially not Rashman… just me." Frank saw hope warring with doubt in his brother's eyes and took a deep breath. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Absolutely," Joe replied without hesitation.

"Then do what I'm asking and everything will be fine," Frank assured him, hoping he was right. Reaching out he squeezed Joe's shoulder tightly. "I promise."

Returning to the courtroom, Joe saw it was empty save for his parents. He stopped for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. Seeing his confusion, Laura stood and walked purposefully toward him stopping when she was directly in front of him. Wordlessly, she held her arms out and Joe reacted immediately.

Rushing forward Joe stepped into the sanctuary of his mother's warm embrace. Several moments passed as Joe lost himself in the feeling of security his mother's touch always provided. Hearing the doors to the courtroom open, Joe released her, reluctantly giving up the refuge he craved.

As he stepped back, Laura reached up and rested a hand on his cheek. "I had a little talk with your father," she smiled a little sadly. "I'm fully prepared for everything now so I don't want you to worry about me."

Joe swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded silently, grateful he didn't hear the discussion his mother was referring to. Feeling a strong hand on his shoulder, Joe turned and saw his father looking back at him.

"And _I_ had a little talk with Handling. I told him I didn't want your testimony to drag on and on. We mutually agreed that his questioning would begin and end today."

"How'd you get him to agree to that?" Joe asked slightly amused. He knew Handling would prefer to drag out his testimony for days on end, exploiting every single episode of torture.

"I told him if he wasn't capable of wrapping it up in one day I'd insist he be replaced with a Federal prosecutor who could," Fenton couldn't hide a little smile of victory. "When he threatened me with his 'friends in high places' within the government, I called his bluff. It seems my friends are a whole lot higher up than his."

Joe heard his brother laugh out loud and couldn't help but join in as he took a seat between Frank and Laura. Moments later, after the judge and jury returned Joe found himself back on the witness stand. Recalling Frank's promise of a few moments earlier, Joe sought out his brother. As Peter Handling resumed his questioning, Joe blocked out everyone else in the courtroom, focusing completely on Frank.

'_I'm counting on you, big brother. Please don't let me down.'_


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you lexifisher, Polaris and Miss Fenway! :-)

**Chapter 18**

Laura sat between Fenton and Frank, holding one of their hands tightly in each of hers. She sat up straight and steeled herself as Joe began speaking again. She knew her reaction a few minutes earlier had shaken him and was determined not to let that happen again. Watching her younger son, Laura noticed immediately that he was completely and totally focused on his older brother. Turning to her left slightly, she saw Frank was staring back at Joe with the same intense concentration, blocking out everyone and everything around him.

Settling back, Laura relaxed a little bit. While the details had never been openly discussed, she knew Frank had acted as a 'surrogate' therapist for Joe over the past several months, listening to his brother when Joe couldn't bring himself to talk to anyone else. A sudden unexpected rush of pride almost overwhelmed her as she gazed at Frank, wondering how she had been lucky enough to be blessed with the two exceptional young men who were her sons. Fearing the weight of her stare might be distracting to Frank, she returned her attention to the front of the room and listened as Peter Handling continued his questioning.

"So while you were chained to the fence, unable to defend yourself in any way, with first and second degree burns on your arm, the defendant struck you several times with his fists? To the point where you almost lost consciousness?" Handling paraphrased what Joe had just related.

"Yes," Joe confirmed, listening to the D.A. but never taking his eyes off his brother.

"He then searched your wallet until he found your driver's license and private investigator's license. He then realized you were the son of Fenton Hardy - the man who sent his brother to prison for life," Handling reiterated, wanting to make certain the jury understood the relevance. "Once he realized who you were and who your father was, what happened?"

"He got visibly angry and started choking me."

"Had he shown any kind of emotion prior to this? Any emotion at all?"

"No, none." Joe stopped and took a breath. The urge to look at his father, to let him know what happened wasn't his fault was almost overpowering but Joe fought it. He knew if he looked away from Frank, from the one person who could keep him calm and settled he'd unravel in seconds. "He said my father was the reason his brother was rotting in prison. He said he could kill two birds with one stone – do his job and get even with my father at the same time."

"And he was choking you this whole time?" Handling asked.

"Yes."

"Why did he stop?"

"His partner. He said, _"We have to find out what he did with the envelope. Once we get that information you can do whatever you want with him. Send him back to Daddy in little pieces for all I care…"_ That's when he stopped." Having adapted to Handling's style of questioning, Joe waited a beat to see if the D.A. was going to comment on any part of Joe's statement. When several seconds of silence passed, Joe continued.

"He started to walk away but then came back to me. He said even though it was technically impossible for me to escape he wanted to make sure I couldn't get very far if I did get out of the chains. He kneeled down in front of me and stabbed me in the foot."

"Stabbed you in the foot… and then walked away?" Handling asked, letting Joe know he wanted more details.

Joe sighed feeling his concentration start to lapse. "No." He watched as Frank leaned forward a little and pointed to his own eyes. Suddenly Frank's voice was loud and clear.

_"When you get back up on that stand you look at me – ME – and no one else."_ Forcing himself to focus on Frank, Joe continued.

"He drove the knife into my foot as far as he could. Then he started turning it. He didn't stop until I screamed. He said that's what he liked to hear," Joe finished in a subdued voice.

"Mr. Rashman said he liked to hear you screaming; crying out in pain?" Handling repeated feigning disbelief.

"Yes."

Handling shook his head as if it hurt to process that information. "Please continue."

"After that he went to the trunk of the car and pulled something out. When he started walking back towards me, I saw it was a chain. A heavy chain like the ones holding me to the fence." Joe drew in a deep breath, staring at his brother so hard his head started to hurt. "He didn't even ask me about the envelope. He just started hitting me with the chain."

"Where?" Handling interrupted.

"In the chest. I wasn't ready and I could really only stand on one foot. My knees gave out and when I fell forward, the chains stopped my momentum – and pulled my arm back. I tried to stand – to take the pressure off my arm – but that opened up the knife wound on my foot even more."

"Is that when he stopped hitting you with the chain?" Handling continued his questions as he distributed pictures of the beating to the jury, some of whom were openly disturbed by the graphic images.

"No, he kept hitting me for several minutes. When he finally stopped, he dumped a bucket of cold water on me. I choked on it and that's when I knew I had broken ribs. Every time I took a breath, it hurt. I was shivering, disoriented, couldn't stay focused…" Joe's voice trailed off as he relived the moment in his mind.

"Joe, how much time had elapsed from the moment you had regained consciousness up to this point? How many hours had gone by?" Handling asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hours? It wasn't hours it was minutes. Maybe forty or forty-five minutes," Joe answered, suddenly feeling very drained.

Handling stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at Joe as if in utter shock. "So you're saying that you were burned with an open flame, beaten with fists, choked until you were barely conscious, stabbed with a knife, beaten with a chain and doused with a bucket of water all in less than an hour?"

"Yes," Joe said closing his eyes and sitting back in the chair. _'I can't do this, I need a break. Please, I need a break.'_

The judge eyed Joe critically and realized the distressed young man was nearing the end of his rope. "This court will recess for lunch and resume in one hour."

'_Thank you,'_ Joe thought laying his head back against the hard wooden chair. _'Thank you.'_

Slowly, Joe rose from the chair and made his way back to the seating area, collapsing into the empty seat between Frank and Laura. While he welcomed their comforting touch and murmured words of encouragement, Joe knew there was only one thing he wanted at that moment, one thing he needed. The only thing that would get him through the rest of the day – he needed to hear the sound of Vanessa's voice.

oooOOOooo

Callie returned from the kitchen and set a tray laden with snacks and drinks on the coffee table. As she spread out the food on the table and tucked the tray on the floor underneath, she smothered a smile. Unable to stop herself, Vanessa glanced at the cell phone again, just as she had every minute or so since Joe and the others had left that morning. Pretending not to notice, Callie settled back on the couch and picked up the remote pressing "Play". No sooner had the movie started than Vanessa's cell phone finally rang.

'_Thank goodness!'_ Callie grinned to herself as Vanessa pounced on the phone.

"Joe!" Vanessa said breathlessly. "How are you? Is everything going okay? Are you almost done? When will you be back?" She blurted out the questions without stopping.

She listened for a moment before blushing slightly. Seeing Callie watching her, Vanessa shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Babe, I'm just so glad to hear your voice."

Sensing Vanessa might want to talk to Joe privately, Callie got up and disappeared down the hall. Returning a few minutes later, she heard the tail end of the conversation and couldn't help but be touched at the concern so clearly evident in Vanessa's every word. She shook her head, amazed once again at the intensity of Joe and Vanessa's relationship.

'_Soul mates,'_ she thought. _'They were definitely put on this earth to find each other.'_

"I love you too, Baby," Vanessa said softly. "I miss you. I know. Okay, bye."

Callie watched, puzzled, as Vanessa made no move to end the call despite having bid Joe a heartfelt goodbye. Just as she was about to ask Vanessa what was going on, the younger girl spoke again.

"Frank? Is he really okay?" There was a pause as Vanessa listened to Frank's reply. "You're sure?" She pressed, her forehead creased in concern. "Well, okay…if you're sure." She exhaled loudly. "We'll see you when you get back. And Frank...tell him I love him. Thanks. Bye."

Callie sat down next to her friend and laid a hand on Vanessa's arm. "Everything going okay?" She asked.

Vanessa turned to face her and Callie was struck by the worry that seemed to consume her blue-gray eyes. "I guess. Joe says he's fine; Frank says he's fine…"

"But you're still not convinced."

"He's going through hell. How can he be fine, Cal?" Vanessa asked quietly.

"Because he's got you… and a whole lot of other people who love him." Callie hugged her tightly. "Look, they'll be back before you know it. And then you can see for yourself that Joe really is fine."

Vanessa eyed her friend dubiously but settled back to watch the rest of the movies they'd chosen to keep them occupied for the afternoon.

oooOOOooo

Back on the witness stand once again, Joe watched Peter Handling walk towards him with more photographs in hand. His mind screamed at him to look at Frank but Joe couldn't tear his eyes away from the pictures.

'_The scorpions,'_ Joe thought, immediately clutching his left arm.

While being burned with an open flame had been physically excruciating, the scorpions had pushed Joe over the edge physically, mentally and emotionally. Not knowing if or when they would strike or whether any of them were indeed deadly had fed Joe's prolific imagination. Those thoughts had quickly gotten the best of him, allowing the scorpions to do the same. The blistering pain had been unbearable and he'd been unable to keep silent. Even now, he could feel the terror building as if it were happening all over again. As the feeling was about to take over, Joe was snapped back to reality by someone coughing – very loudly.

Joe looked up and saw Frank staring at him intently. Almost imperceptibly, Frank pointed to himself.

_"…you look at me – ME – and no one else…"_

Joe stared at his brother and nodded, promising both of them he would try to hold up his end of the deal. _'Just me and Frank…in the park…there's no one else here…'_

…

Laura Hardy listened with a broken heart as her son described being doused with cold water in the middle of the night with temperatures hovering near freezing. His voice was softer than it had been all day as he told the jury of the terror of not knowing what was in the jar Rashman had placed at his feet. When he announced Rashman had unceremoniously dumped the jar of scorpions over his head a few moments later, Peter Handling pounced

Flashing a picture of Joe with scorpions in his hair, on his arms and shoulder, Handling pressed for the minutest details. The courtroom was suddenly suffocating in horror and disbelief. Handling forced Joe to describe the feeling of tiny legs scampering over his body and the fear of not knowing if or when they would strike without warning. Ignoring Joe's slow descent into hell from reliving the incident, the D.A. insisted Joe tell the jury what it felt like when he could no longer control his shivering body and the scorpions finally attacked.

Laura thought she saw the son who was so often described as having no fear revert to a scared and vulnerable little boy right before her eyes. She noticed a few jurors dab at their eyes with tissues as Joe attempted to describe the fiery pain that raced through his body, and wondered if they saw it too. Laura was certain Peter Handling couldn't get any lower with his callous attitude when he asked his final question about the incident.

"And did you scream in agony the way Mr. Rashman wanted you to?"

Laura hadn't even realized she'd risen until strong hands pulled her back to her seat. All eyes were suddenly on her as Frank and Fenton each held one of her arms, preventing her from moving. With a start, Laura became aware that she had been so blinded by anger at Handling's complete disregard for Joe's feelings she had actually tried to get up and attack the man, her sole purpose being to inflict as much pain on him as he was on her son.

Flushing with embarrassment, Laura looked up meeting Joe's eyes. The last thing he needed was for his mother to be arrested for assaulting the attorney who was trying to get justice for him. Much to her surprise, Joe's eyes held that elusive mischievous sparkle and he was smiling with amusement.

'_Thanks.'_ He mouthed the word to her.

'_You're welcome,'_ she replied in kind.

…

Frank watched the exchange between Laura and Joe with a bemused smile, grateful for Laura's unintentional diversion. From the many heartbreaking and painful talks he and Joe had over the past several months, Frank knew this was Joe's one big weak spot. While he had been able to accept everything else Rashman had done to him and come to terms with it on some level, the episode with the scorpions haunted Joe to this day. Frank had seen Joe quickly slipping away from him, losing all focus and control under Handling's relentless questions. He'd had a feeling this was the one incident Handling would want Joe to relive down to the very last detail.

It had been not only physically painful in the extreme but had taken a mental and emotional toll on Joe that Frank wasn't sure he'd ever completely recover from. He was certain Laura's irrational moment of anger had saved Joe from emotional collapse and given him the time he needed to recover.

With a grimace, Frank did a mental tally of what still needed to be covered in Joe's testimony. He'd listened to Joe talk about his ordeal so many times Frank thought he could probably testify to it just as well as Joe and right now, wished he could do just that. Frank tried to guess which of the three remaining incidents of abuse Handling might choose to exploit and hoped it wouldn't be all of them. While Joe had regrouped somewhat, Frank could see he was still shaken. He hoped Handling might be able to find an ounce of compassion for Joe somewhere deep in his soul.

'_If he even has a soul,'_ Frank thought sourly wondering if it wouldn't have been better to let Laura have at the man.

He couldn't help but chuckle at the image that suddenly popped into his head – a giant of a man lying unconscious in the woods, bound, gagged and blindfolded with handcuffs, rope, ripped towels and duct tape. This was what had happened to the last man who'd tried to hurt Joe in Laura's presence. Frank allowed himself a brief mental image of Peter Handling begging for mercy as Laura wrapped him in a cocoon of duct tape. Smiling at the picture in his mind's eye, Frank turned his full attention back to Joe.

…

It was close to two and a half hours later when Joe finally neared the end of his testimony. As Frank had feared, Handling had insisted Joe go into as much detail as possible in telling the court of the remaining instances of cruelty he'd been subjected to. With the D.A. flashing picture after picture, Joe related the horror of not knowing whether the shrinking leather strap around his neck would eventually cut off his air supply, resulting in a slow and painful death by suffocation.

Joe told of the abrupt change in Rashman's attitude when he still refused to reveal the location of the envelope he'd hidden, resulting in an entire box of salt being rubbed into his open wounds. Mercifully, Joe had passed out shortly after being drenched with a bottle of alcohol, resulting in a quick end to Handling's attempted exploitation of that incident. With a final description of his version of events when Frank and Fenton had arrived on the scene, Joe sat back praying there would be no more questions.

Peter Handling answered Joe's prayers as he turned and started back towards the prosecution table. "No further questions, Your Honor."

Resting his head against the back of the chair, Joe closed his eyes, visibly exhausted. _'Finally! It's over!'_ he thought, flooded with relief.

Joe started to relax as he listened to the sounds of the courtroom – muted whispers; soft footsteps; a chair scraping on the floor; someone clearing their throat… and a voice that sent a chill down his spine.

"Your Honor, I'd like to cross-examine this witness," Matthew Barning announced.

'_NO!'_ Joe's head snapped up as anguished eyes flew open. Immediately, Joe sought out his brother and locked onto Frank's brown eyes, panicked. _'Help me!'_


	19. Chapter 19

lexifisher, Polaris, TraSan, Miss Fenway, Phx and MissMe113 – thank you so much for the reviews! :D

Thank you to all those who are reading. Hope you are enjoying the story! :-)

**Chapter 19**

Before Frank could react to Joe's silent plea for help, Fenton Hardy leaned over the railing separating the seating area from the front of the courtroom and tapped Peter Handling on the shoulder. A hastily whispered conversation ensued and Handling quickly stood up.

"Your Honor…" he began only to be cut off by the judge.

"I'm one step ahead of you, Mr. Handling. This court will take a short recess and reconvene in fifteen minutes," he announced.

oooOOOooo

Vanessa stared blankly at the television having no idea what movie she was watching. Consumed with thoughts of Joe, she'd spent more time watching the clock than anything else. With another glance at her watch, she sighed realizing it would be at least two hours before Joe returned. Suddenly her cell phone rang, startling both her and Callie. Picking it up, she checked the display and looked at Callie worriedly as she answered.

"Joe?"

"Hey, Baby," Joe said quietly.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Vanessa had immediately picked up on the tone in Joe's voice. Subdued, drained…overwhelmed.

"I just wanted to hear your voice, that's all."

Vanessa relaxed slightly hearing the tenderness in his words. Understanding that Joe needed something else to focus on besides himself and the trial, even if only for a few minutes, she softly said, "I miss you."

"Me too."

"How does a nice quiet dinner sound? Just the two of us? We could have room service send up something," she suggested, selfishly wanting Joe all to herself that evening. "We could look through all those brochures I've been collecting and decide which deserted, tropical island will be lucky enough to host our honeymoon." Vanessa smiled hearing Joe chuckle in response.

"You schlepped those brochures all the way to Chicago?" he asked, amused.

"You betcha," Vanessa replied, relishing the sound of Joe's laughter. "So what do you think?"

"I think it sounds perfect."

"Good, I'll make all the arrangements." She paused for a moment. "Joe, are you really all right?"

There was a brief silence and then Joe's quiet response. "I am now. See you tonight. Love you, Babe."

"I love you, too," Vanessa replied in a hushed whisper. "Bye."

Hanging up the phone and placing it back on the end table, Vanessa swiped at her eyes roughly.

"You okay?" Callie asked gently.

Vanessa looked at her for a moment. Shaking her head, she didn't attempt to hide the tears. "When is this going to end?"

Callie scooted closer to her friend and put an arm around the younger girl. Knowing there was no answer to that question, Callie simply held her friend as she cried.

oooOOOooo

For the fourth time in two days, Joe found himself on the witness stand staring out into the packed courtroom. Speaking with Vanessa at lunchtime had made Joe realize how much he really _had_ looked to her for support in previous days. At the same time, he was certain her not being present today was the right decision, no matter how much he needed her now.

The phone calls had been just enough to remind Joe that while the trial seemed to be dragging on forever, eventually it would end. Keith Rashman represented a horrible part of his past and his present, but Vanessa was his future. That thought would be all Joe needed to get through the rest of the afternoon. As Matthew Barning stood and approached him, Joe couldn't help but glance at Rashman. He smiled inwardly thinking of their vastly different futures. _'With a little bit of luck you'll be spending yours in prison and I'll be spending mine with the woman I love.'_

"Good afternoon, Joe," Barning smiled.

"Good afternoon."

"Joe, we've all heard about the awful injuries you suffered at the hands of my client. I understand the recovery process, particularly physical therapy, was especially difficult. Tell me, have you completely recovered from those injuries with no lasting effects?" Barning asked, sounding deeply concerned.

"Yes," Joe replied simply.

"I understand you are an extremely gifted athlete. Have you been able to resume participation in your favorite sports and activities?"

"Yes," Joe stated again.

"With no ill effects? No decrease in performance?"

"No," Joe continued his one-word answers thinking he didn't want to give Barning anything he could use to his own advantage.

…

In the front row of spectators, Frank was livid. Barning was trying to make it appear he was sympathetic towards Joe and at the same time give the jury the impression what had happened to Joe wasn't all that bad since he recovered and resumed his normal activities. The fact that Joe hated to ever appear weak was playing right into Barning's hands.

"I'm sure I speak for every person in this room when I say how impressed and relieved we are with your incredible recovery. Now, I'd like to clarify one part of your testimony if that's all right with you?" Barning smiled sincerely.

Frank's anger continued to grow as he listened. Barning appeared to be deeply concerned about Joe's mental state while Handling had almost reduced him to a basket case without even blinking an eye. It was something Frank was certain the jurors had also noticed and he knew it would be almost impossible for it not to cloud their judgment.

"Of course," Joe said stonily. _'Like I have a choice!'_

"Thank you. Now, you said there was one particular point in time when you noticed a change in my client's attitude, is that correct?"

"Yes," Joe replied warily.

"Could you elaborate on that? How did his attitude change? A look? Something he said? Something he did?"

'_NO!'_ Frank wanted to scream as Barning's strategy suddenly became clear. If he could get Joe to admit Rashman suddenly started acting differently, more irrational or emotional or taking sudden pleasure in hurting Joe for no apparent reason, it would be the same as Joe admitting Rashman had gone crazy. If the victim admitted his assailant appeared insane, the jury would have no choice but to find the defendant not guilty.

…

"It was in his eyes," Joe replied. "It wasn't just a job anymore. It was personal." Joe stared blankly into the crowd, instantly flashing back to that moment when he'd seen the change…

_Joe stared at Rashman and thought he saw something change in the man's eyes. He felt a chill, this one from pure fear, when he realized Rashman was staring at him with malice and hatred. Somehow, Joe knew he had crossed a line with his ability to remain silent, despite the escalating abuse. As far as Rashman was concerned, getting Joe to cry out in agony, beg for the torture to stop and reveal what he had done with the envelope was no longer just another assignment – now it was personal._

_Rashman leaned forward until his face was just inches from Joe's. His eyes blazed with anger._

_"I __**will**__ break you, Hardy. If it's the last thing I do."_

Joe shuddered, recalling what had happened next – salt being ground into his burned and blistered arm. As he began to hear the echo of his own screams of pain mingle with Rashman's laughter, Joe shook his head and focused on Barning once again.

"I'm sorry, Joe, I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you, but we're almost done," the defense attorney said sympathetically.

…

'_Damn you!'_ Frank cursed silently, furious that Barning appeared to be showing more compassion for Joe in ten minutes than Handling had in ten days. He knew it was just an illusion but would the jurors know that too?

…

"At any time did my client appear to actually enjoy what he was doing to you? Did he ever smile, laugh or make jokes? Did he seem to take extreme pleasure in hurting you?" Barning asked his brow creased with concern for Joe.

Joe opened his mouth to speak and stopped immediately as it finally dawned on him what Barning intended to do. Joe looked to his father, the man who had taught him to always tell the truth no matter what. Confused and disillusioned, Joe had no idea how to respond to this question.

After he figured out the connection between Joe and Fenton, there had been many instances where Rashman took great care to inflict as much pain as possible on Joe. And he had enjoyed it immensely. There _had_ been jokes, smiles and laughter, especially when Joe couldn't contain his screams of agony. How could he possibly answer truthfully? It would be like giving Rashman a _"get out of jail free"_ card.

'_Please, Dad,'_ Joe stared at his father imploringly, _'please tell me it's okay to lie.'_

As Fenton stared back at Joe, his brown eyes filled with regret, Joe felt the silence begin to suffocate him. Knowing he had no other choice, Joe made a last ditch effort to answer truthfully but with clarification. He knew Barning would try and shut him up the second he responded in the affirmative and only hoped he could blurt out at least part of an explanation before that happened.

"Yes, but he never-" Joe began only to be silenced by Matthew Barning.

"No further questions, Your Honor," the defense attorney said returning to his seat.

Joe's infamous temper quickly rose as he glared at Peter Handling, his blue eyes shooting fire. _'Do something!'_

"Your Honor, I'd like to redirect." The D.A. stood and walked to the front of the room. "Joe, could you tell the court where you were on September 18th, 19th and 20th of this year?"

Joe frowned wondering what that had to do with whether or not Rashman enjoyed torturing him. The frown was quickly replaced with obvious displeasure as he remembered all too well where he was.

"I was in the hospital." Joe replied evenly.

"Why were you hospitalized?"

"Objection." Barning called out. "That was two months ago. It can't possibly have any bearing on this case."

"If I am permitted to continue the court will see it has a direct bearing on this case, specifically on Mr. Barning's claim that Joe Hardy suffered no permanent injuries as a result of the abuse he suffered at the hands of the defendant."

"Overruled," the judge ruled, "the witness may answer the question."

"I had an infection." Joe said curtly, furious that his medical history was being opened up for everyone to see.

"People aren't normally hospitalized for infections unless they are life threatening. Exactly what kind of infection did you have?" Handling asked.

"A systemic infection," Joe practically growled noting the predatory gleam had returned to Handling's eyes.

Picking up a piece of paper off the table, Peter Handling began to read. "A systemic infection occurs when the microorganisms of a local infection gain access to the lymphatic or vascular system. If left untreated, it can result in death."

Retrieving yet another piece of paper, Handling approached the judge's bench. "I would like to enter into evidence a statement from Dr. Neil Andress, an emergency medicine specialist and Joe Hardy's treating physician on the dates in question. Dr. Andress states that Joe Hardy contracted a systemic infection because his body could not fight off an initial, localized infection in his wrists due to a compromised immune system.

"His immune system is compromised because his spleen had to be removed in May of this year. As Dr. Marston testified yesterday afternoon, when Joe Hardy was brought into the emergency room after being tortured by the defendant for almost twenty-four hours straight, he was near death. Dr. Marston performed emergency surgery and found that Mr. Hardy was literally bleeding to death internally from a ruptured spleen. This injury most likely occurred when he was beaten repeatedly for several minutes with a heavy chain.

"So while it may not be visible to Mr. Barning or anyone else for that matter, Joe Hardy _does_ have a _permanent_ injury as a direct result of the beating he received from the defendant. He has to live the rest of his life knowing an infection that would barely be noticed by the rest of us could easily be his death sentence."

Handling waited a moment, letting the jury absorb the new information before making his final point.

"Joe, at any time did Mr. Rashman appear to you to lose control at all?" Handling asked, knowing Barning couldn't really object without negating his own cross-examination.

"No, he was in complete control at all times," Joe said, relieved that Handling was trying to counteract the damage Barning may have done.

"Despite the fact that he seemed to enjoy torturing you, he seemed to stick to a plan, did he not?"

"Yes, he did," Joe replied, hesitating for only a moment before getting a signal from Handling to keep talking. "Everything he used on me, except for the burning log, was in the trunk of his car."

"Did he at any time use anything he hadn't brought with him? Anything he may have picked up off the ground in a moment of anger?"

"No, nothing."

"So he came prepared," Handling reiterated. "He had the chains, the leather straps, even the scorpions in his car, all ready and waiting to be used in turn. He even stopped to purchase water and salt obviously knowing full well what he wanted to do with them," he reminded the jury. "Anticipation, forethought, strategy and planning. Not the actions of an insane man. No further questions your honor." Handling returned to his seat with a self-satisfied smile.

oooOOOooo

Joe laid on the floor contentedly, his eyes closed and his head resting in Vanessa's lap. After a candle-lit dinner in their own suite, Vanessa had spread out some pillows on the floor and sat down, beckoning Joe to join her. Determined to make Joe forget the trial for at least a few hours, Vanessa began reading brochures to him stopping frequently to pop a strawberry into his mouth or indulge his many requests for a kiss. Picking up yet another brochure, this one from the Bahamian tourist board, Vanessa opened it up and rattled off some of the names of the over two hundred islands that made up the Bahamas.

"Cat Island?!" Joe laughed out loud. "Read that one. I want to know if you have to be a cat to stay there or are humans allowed on the island too."

"Cat Island's isolation makes it a perfect getaway for honeymooners," Vanessa read from the brochure, absently running her fingers through Joe's hair. "Unspoiled white sand beaches, lush vegetation and friendly people abound on this southern Bahamian island. Laid back and unhurried, Cat stretches for fifty miles, surrounded by white sand beaches, coconut palms and smiling faces. Come explore, play, relax, read, renew and refresh yourself. Swim, snorkel, fish or visit local settlements. Take a break from hurried schedules to walk on the beach. Revel in the joy of no stress, no phones, no television… sorry, hon, no cats."

"That's okay, I'm a dog person. It sounds like my kind of place, though," Joe said teasingly. "I could take you hostage and no one would ever find you."

"Is that a promise?" Vanessa said seductively, leaning down for a lengthy kiss. A moment later, she straightened up with a devilish grin. "Okay, more of that later. Right now, it's back to the honeymoon planning."

Picking up the brochure that had slipped from her fingers, Vanessa began to read again. "Attractions include beautiful, private beaches, the Cat Island Regatta, Hermitage atop Mount Alvernia and pink-sand beaches. Historic plantations now in ruins dot the length of the island. Diving, snorkeling, swimming, canoeing, kayaking and shelling are just a few of the many activities to choose from." Vanessa's voice trailed off as she skimmed the brochure searching for a description of the accommodations.

"Oh, Joe, listen to this!" she exclaimed. "The Estate House is a 2-bedroom, 2-½ bath home with a spectacular 360º view that includes north Cat Island and the Exuma Sound. It is very private and exclusive with access by a private road that guarantees your seclusion. The house features a spiral staircase to the roof deck for sunbathing or to capture the incredible views. A short walk down to the beach leads you to a deserted oasis for exploration, snorkeling, shelling or sunbathing. For those looking to get away from it all, this home is truly unique and offers a very special experience."

Vanessa looked down at Joe her blue-gray eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can we stay there? At the Estate House? Please?"

"Anything you want, Baby," Joe replied smiling at her enthusiasm. "If it's the Estate House you want, it's the Estate House you'll get."

"You're so good to me," Vanessa murmured sliding down on the floor next to Joe and wrapping her arms around him.

As Joe pulled her close, he realized he hadn't thought about the trial once all night. For all intents and purposes, it was over, for him anyway. The following morning would be spent on closing arguments and then it was up to the jury. Although he was mentally tired and emotionally drained, Joe had made it through the trial with his sanity still intact.

'_The worst is finally over,'_ Joe thought as he pulled Vanessa close and their lips met. _'It's all downhill from here.'_


	20. Chapter 20

Polaris, lexifisher, Tifal55, xXnatedawgXx, TraSan, Miss Fenway, Helen, and Phx – THANK YOU! :D

**Chapter 20**

Seated in the courtroom the following morning, Joe spoke quietly with his family, more talkative than he had been since the start of the trial. While still looking a bit tired, the dark circles under his eyes had diminished considerably and he looked at peace with himself. As the judge officially opened the day's proceedings, Joe watched Peter Handling rise from his seat and settled back to listen to the closing arguments.

"The defense would have you believe that Keith Rashman did not know what he was doing when he abducted Joe Hardy, beating and torturing him repeatedly for twenty-four hours. They would have you accept that he was not responsible for his actions, did not understand that what he was doing was legally and morally wrong. Yet, the evidence makes it abundantly clear that Keith Rashman was indeed of sound mind when he committed these heinous acts. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Three different people shared with us what they observed that night at O'Hare Airport. Joe Hardy, unconscious, being dragged through the airport. Each one of these people stopped to help and each one was told the same lie by Keith Rashman. If we are to believe that Mr. Rashman did not know what he was doing was wrong, how does he explain the fact that he lied, repeatedly, to cover up his actions. If he didn't understand it was wrong, there was no reason for him to lie about what he was doing.

"Not only did Mr. Rashman lie to the good Samaritans who attempted to save Joe Hardy from the fate the defendant had in store for him, Mr. Rashman lied yet again, weaving another well constructed tale, when he was stopped by airport security. A lie uncovered by the testimony of the security officer who stopped Mr. Rashman that evening; a lie that was corroborated by the airport security videotapes.

"People lie to keep the truth hidden. To cover up an act or a deed they know is wrong. In Mr. Rashman's case, to conceal a crime; the crime of attempted murder. Mr. Rashman wants you to believe, wants all of us to believe, that he did not understand murder is a crime. Yet the simple fact that he told lie after lie after lie to ensure no one could help Joe Hardy tells us otherwise.

"The various methods Mr. Rashman employed to extract a single piece of information from his victim, by inflicting pain and torture beyond comprehension, were all predetermined – beginning with the location. Mr. Rashman drove for over two hours, transporting his victim to the most desolate, barren, uninhabited terrain he could find. Why? So, no one could hear Joe Hardy scream. In the trunk of his car, Mr. Rashman had all the tools of his trade. He was well stocked with instruments of torture and abuse. In fact, he prided himself on the brutal methods he used to get his victims to talk.

"Does this sound like a man who was unaware of what he was doing? A man who didn't know the difference between right and wrong? No, it does not. It does, however, sound like a man who knows he is breaking the law and does so with planning and forethought. Someone who doesn't understand the difference between right and wrong, doesn't plan in advance. They don't strategize the most effective ways to inflict pain. They don't organize their acts of torture in such a way as to build on previous acts, ensuring each one is more painful than the last.

"Yet this is exactly what Mr. Rashman did, prioritizing the abuses he dealt to Joe Hardy. An open flame held repeatedly against unprotected skin, resulting in severe second-degree burns and permanent scars. A heavy chain swung again and again ensuring broken ribs, punctured lungs and internal bleeding, resulting in the onset of shock. Gallons of cold water drenching an already critically injured young man, making it excruciatingly painful to simply draw a breath.

"Scorpions. Not deadly, although Joe Hardy didn't know that at the time. Poisonous scorpions would defeat the purpose. Remember, Mr. Rashman had a very specific goal in mind. Extracting information. A dead man cannot speak. However, a man in agonizing, unbearable pain might tell their abuser what they want to hear, hoping to stop the abuse and alleviate the pain.

"You heard the expert testimony. A single scorpion sting can result in pain so severe the victim might very well prefer death simply to escape the misery. Joe Hardy was stung by not one, but two, scorpions. If not for his amazing self-control and quick thinking, three, four, possibly five scorpions would have stung him.

"You see, Mr. Rashman had a plan. He knew if his victim was able to remain still, the chances of being stung were slim. So, in the middle of the night, with temperatures hovering near the freezing mark, he doused Joe Hardy yet again with cold water. And then he waited. He waited until Joe Hardy was shivering uncontrollably, unable to stop. It was only then that Mr. Rashman dumped the jar of scorpions over Joe Hardy's body.

"Those are not the actions of a man who isn't thinking clearly, who doesn't know right from wrong. They are the actions of a man who knew exactly what he was doing. A man who was following a very carefully designed and well orchestrated plan. And he didn't stop. Not knowing how long it would take to break Joe Hardy, Mr. Rashman had still more abuses waiting in his arsenal. Salt to be slowly and painfully rubbed into open wounds and burns. Salt, which he purchased hours earlier, obviously knowing exactly what he wanted to use it for. Something only a man who incorporates meticulously thought out strategies, would do.

"And finally, the ultimate proof that Mr. Rashman was in full control of himself, his thoughts, and his actions. Photographs. Not just one or two, but rather a multitude of photographs taken at very specific moments. Graphic pictures that you were asked to look at, to scrutinize. To you and I they are images of deeds too horrible to view even for a second. To Mr. Rashman, they are a coveted part of his resume. It is a ritual he plans for, always wanting his work to be captured on film, priding himself on a job well done.

"These actions are not those of a man who is incapable of discerning right from wrong. They are not the actions of a man who doesn't know the difference between justice and injustice. This is not a man who doesn't understand that there are certain kinds of behavior deemed unacceptable in our society. This is a man who inflicts pain and torture to achieve a desired outcome. A man who does so willingly, who takes great pride in his abilities. A man who thrives on the challenge of breaking the human spirit.

"Mr. Rashman knew exactly what he was doing when he kidnapped and tortured Joe Hardy almost to death. He strategized, organized and then executed his plan with the utmost precision. You must let the defense know you will not allow the blame for this despicable crime to be shifted away from the one who committed it. The person who needs to be held accountable for the choices he made and the actions he took. Tell Mr. Rashman he, and _only_ he, is responsible for the vile acts he committed. You must find Keith Rashman guilty."

oooOOOooo

Matthew Barning rose and walked to the front of the courtroom. He stared first at Keith Rashman and then turned to Frank and Joe, letting his gaze linger on them for almost a full minute. Then he started to speak.

"Craig and Keith Rashman. The doting, over-protective older brother and the hero-worshipping, adoring younger brother. Frank and Joe Hardy. The doting, over-protective older brother and the hero-worshipping, adoring younger brother. Is there any difference between the Rashmans and the Hardys? Barely. It's there. Almost imperceptible. The latter two represent everything good and decent in our society. The former, through no fault of their own, represent just the opposite.

"The Hardys, raised in Bayport. A quaint, endearing town where parents can let their children play outside, in the fresh air, without fear for their safety. Two brothers brought up in a loving home with caring parents who taught them the difference between right and wrong. Good and evil. Justice and injustice.

"The Rashmans, abandoned by their father, left with a drug-addicted prostitute for a mother. A mother who rarely came home. A mother who one day stopped coming home at all. Two little boys, expected to fend for themselves in New York City, where it's a daily struggle just to survive, even for adults. No guidance. No parental authority. No one to show them the way. No one to care.

"Frank Hardy doted on his younger brother, Joe. Acted as a surrogate father figure when Fenton Hardy was called away, teaching his brother all the things a young boy in small town America would need to know. Always looking out for him, protecting him from the harsh realities of the world. Sibling rivalry was unheard of. A bond developed between the two that, to this day, is unbreakable.

"Craig Rashman. He, too, doted on his younger brother, Keith. He, too, acted as a father figure. He, too, acted as a teacher for his younger brother. Unfortunately, he did not have the luxury of teaching his brother the ins and outs of baseball, basketball, fishing and camping. All the things the Hardys shared and enjoyed on a regular basis.

"No, Craig Rashman was instead forced to teach his younger brother about survival. Survival in a city that wouldn't think twice about crushing him in a heartbeat. Survival in a city where only the strong really do survive. Keith Rashman learned at his brother's feet. Learned the craft that his brother taught him. Learned the only thing his brother had to give him – survive at all costs.

"Did the Rashmans know what they did was wrong? To beat, torture, maim another human being without so much as a second thought? To inflict as much pain as possible and do so with seeming pleasure? Obviously, we all know this is wrong. Heinous in fact. However, where did we learn this? Where did Frank and Joe Hardy learn this? At the hands of loving, caring parents.

"When those loving, caring parents are gone – nonexistent – can we expect two children who have been left to fend for themselves in a brutal city, to know the difference between right and wrong? When each day is a struggle to survive? A struggle just to make it to the next day? Can we hold it against them if not one adult in our society cared enough to step forward and mentor these two boys? To care about them? To love them?

"Craig Rashman passed on to his brother the only way he knew to survive. Keith Rashman learned a craft from his brother. Much the way Joe Hardy learned a craft, from his brother. His brother who learned from their father. A father who wanted nothing but the best for his sons. A father who raised two fine young men, any parent would be proud of.

"Can we possibly hold the Rashmans responsible because they had no 'Fenton Hardy' in their lives? No one who cared enough to raise them with morals and ethics? No one who instilled in them the importance of treating others with respect? No one who taught them the value of helping others? No one who taught them the difference between right and wrong?

"No. We cannot. Frank and Joe Hardy had every advantage in life. They had the perfect childhood we all dream of. Craig and Keith Rashman were doomed from day one. They had the childhood we all fear in our worst nightmares. Our society failed them at the most vulnerable point in their lives.

"Yes, Keith Rashman beat Joe Hardy. And when he discovered Joe Hardy was the son of the man who sent his brother to prison for life, he was pushed past the point of no return. Pushed over the edge at the thought of being able to get some kind of retribution, some kind of revenge against Fenton Hardy for separating him from the brother he worshipped. What better way than to torture Fenton Hardy's son? No longer thinking like a sane, rational person, that is just what Keith Rashman did. He tortured Joe Hardy almost to death.

"But did he know this was wrong? No, he did not. He was simply following in the footsteps of the older brother he worshipped and adored. Seeking some kind of bizarre justice for the one person who kept him safe, who taught him how to survive. The older brother who loved him, raised him, protected him and did not know the difference between right and wrong himself. The older brother who could not pass on knowledge that he did not possess.

"Keith Rashman is not responsible for what he did to Joe Hardy. We are. The society who turned their backs on two helpless little boys. The society who refused to show them even an ounce of sympathy or understanding. Keith Rashman learned what we taught him – there is no place in the world for kindness and compassion. And for that reason, you must find Keith Rashman not guilty."

Frank choked back the bile that rose in his throat, unable to believe what he had just heard. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins. Had Barning really just compared Craig and Keith Rashman to him and Joe? Had he just tried to place the blame for Rashman's animalistic attack on Joe on society? Frank suddenly realized no one in the courtroom had moved or spoken since Barning had returned to his seat. It was deathly quiet and Frank knew that was not good. Glancing at the jury, he saw one woman wipe a tear from her eye and felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

'_No! They can't possibly believe him!' _

As his eyes swept over the jurors, Frank could see they were indeed carefully considering what Barning had said. A few of them seemed to be visibly shaken.

Turning his head slightly, Frank looked at his younger brother and had to stifle a gasp. Joe was almost as white as the dress shirt he was wearing, making his piercing blue eyes stand out even more vividly. Blue eyes that were staring out into space, unseeing, unmoving, not blinking – reflecting only shock and disbelief.

Suddenly Frank heard the bang of a gavel and the bailiff's voice resonating through the courtroom. "All rise."

Frank realized the judge must have given the jurors their final instructions and declared the proceedings concluded for the day. Frank stood, as did everyone around him. Everyone except Joe, who still hadn't so much as blinked. He saw Vanessa reach down and take Joe's arm, attempting to pull him to his feet. He saw the flash of panic in her eyes when Joe didn't even acknowledge her and Frank quickly followed her lead, the two of them pulling Joe to a standing position.

They waited as the jurors filed out of the courtroom, some of whom were looking at Joe with compassion. It was the jurors who glanced at Keith Rashman with something close to sympathy that made Frank's blood run cold and started a tremor deep in his soul.

The second the last juror was behind closed doors, the reporters descended on the Hardys like vultures, pushing and shoving, shouting out questions, trying to get some kind of reaction. Frank saw the situation was quickly deteriorating into chaos. Joe appeared to be in a state of shock and Vanessa was hyperventilating, on the verge of a flashback, as strangers crowded closer and closer to her, with Laura attempting to keep them at bay.

Frank sought out his father who was on the other side of Laura and their eyes locked. Fenton threw a glance at the door and looked back at Frank, who got his father's message loud and clear. Fenton Hardy wanted to get his family out of there now. Callie had seen the exchange and also gotten the message. She turned and began making her way towards the aisle.

Quickly becoming livid at the callousness of the media, Callie purposefully strode forward, fire in her eyes, refusing to stop or be stopped. Pushing microphones and cameras aside with a force she didn't know she possessed, Callie never broke stride, glaring at anyone who dared try to impede her progress, clearing a path for Frank to lead the rest of his family out into the corridor.

Once out in the hall, Fenton immediately herded Joe and Vanessa between himself and Frank and closed ranks. He positioned Laura and Callie in front of the young couple, who both appeared to be on the verge of emotional meltdown.

"Start walking and don't stop for _anything_," Fenton instructed Laura and Callie, now having created a temporary cocoon around Joe and Vanessa. As they began to move forward, he vaguely wondered if anyone would be stupid enough to try and come between Laura and Joe. One look at his wife and he decided only someone with a death wish would try and separate this fiercely protective mother from her obviously distraught son.

…

Joe felt himself leaving the courthouse and had no idea how he was even able to stand, let alone walk. That was when he realized he wasn't so much walking as he was being propelled forward. Completely shell-shocked, he couldn't seem to grasp what was going on around him.

He felt Vanessa pressed up against him, her arm wrapped securely around his waist. He knew Frank was on the other side of him, physically shoving people aside, out of their way. He saw his mother and Callie walking in front of him, so incredibly close he was afraid he would step on them. He was aware of his father's voice, somewhere on the other side of Vanessa repeating the same two words over and over again.

"No comment. No comment. No comment."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, it dawned on him that his family had formed a protective shield around him and Vanessa, not allowing the crush of reporters and courthouse groupies to get close to them. Within minutes, they were seated in the car, with the chaos and turmoil behind them, Joe in the back flanked by Laura and Frank. Vanessa up front between Callie and Fenton.

Joe sat shocked and overwhelmed, as it hit him that Matthew Barning had just taken the one relationship he cherished more than anything in his life and used it against him. He could hear Laura talking to him, the words fuzzy and unclear. Although he didn't understand what she was saying, he found comfort in the low, soothing sound of her voice. It was the way she used to talk to him when he was a little boy and came running to his mother scared and afraid, looking for a safe haven. He felt Frank gently rubbing his back, another ritual begun in childhood to make Joe feel safe and protected, sheltered from the sometimes harsh realities of life.

Joe could hear someone crying softly, the achingly familiar sound tearing at his soul.

'_Vanessa?'_

His heart told him to hold his fiancée, to comfort her just the way he was being comforted, but he felt as if he couldn't move. Joe tried to reach out to her, at least he thought he did, but his body wouldn't obey the commands his brain was sending and he wondered if he were in shock. He heard Frank's voice telling him Vanessa would be all right, Callie would take care of her and he felt a strange sense of relief.

Joe nodded in response, then laid his head down on his mother's shoulder and closed his eyes, exhausted. As the voices of his family started to fade, Joe willingly gave himself up to the darkness that called to him. Surrendering to sleep, for once Joe didn't worry about the nightmares that plagued him mercilessly. He was certain none of them could even come close to the nightmare he had just lived through.


	21. Chapter 21

_Polaris – I don't think any real word can compare with 'SNUFFLEJUICE'! :D Thank you for making me laugh out loud!_

_Lexifisher – I am thrilled that you like my Callie! And maybe you can share some of your real words with Polaris. ;-)_

_MissFenway – You don't trust me anymore?? Why ever not? ;-)_

_Phx – Don't hold back now. Tell us how you really feel about Barning. ;-)_

_TraSan – If your husband and I were on that jury, Rashman would still be chained to a fence somewhere! :p You picked up on everything I was trying to say in that chapter regarding upbringing and whether or not it can be considered a legitimate defense._

_Thank you to all those who are reading. _

**Chapter 21**

Slowly Joe awoke and gazed around the room, momentarily puzzled. This wasn't the bedroom he and Vanessa had shared for the past three years. Closing his eyes again he lay in bed trying to remember why his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. He'd had the most awful nightmare… some attorney had taken the unbreakable bond he shared with his brother and turned it against him.

Joe heard a muffled sob and wondered who it was, when he suddenly realized it wasn't a nightmare - and the person he heard was himself. Memories came flooding back as he recalled Matthew Barning taking the close relationship between him and Frank and tearing it apart piece by piece, using it to defend Keith Rashman's vicious assault. He barely remembered leaving the courtroom and the only thing he could recall after returning to the hotel was his mother insisting he take some aspirin…

'_Aspirin...or sleeping pills?'_ Joe wondered and decided he couldn't blame her for lying to him. _'At least I got to sleep through the night…for once.'_

Hearing the door to the bedroom suite open, Joe rolled over and feigned sleep, deciding he really didn't want to face the world just yet. He felt a twinge of guilt as he recognized the scent of Vanessa's perfume. The bed moved slightly as she sat down next to him and he felt her hand on his cheek. She sat for several minutes, unmoving and he could feel her eyes on him. Joe wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the charade when she sighed heavily and removed her hand. He felt her breath on his face as she leaned down.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," Joe heard her whisper and felt her lips lightly brush against his.

The bed moved again and he heard her retreating footsteps and a click as the door closed. Muffled voices just outside floated in to him and he stiffened.

'_Frank…'_

Still feeling the effects of the sleeping pills, Joe's tortured imagination blew the previous days events way out of proportion. He drifted back to sleep convinced Frank wanted nothing more to do with him. In his current foggy state, he was certain Frank blamed him for the way Barning had twisted their bond and used their closeness to his own advantage.

'_I'm sorry, Frank…'_

oooOOOooo

"He's still asleep," Vanessa told Frank glancing at her watch, a worried frown creasing her forehead. "It's been almost twenty-four hours."

"That was a pretty strong sedative the doctor prescribed," Frank tried to reassure her. "He'll probably sleep for a few more hours and still be kind of out of it when he wakes up."

"I guess." Vanessa looked at the closed door behind her.

"Look at it this way, at least he's getting plenty of uninterrupted sleep," Frank said leading Vanessa down the hall.

Leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked she sighed heavily. When she spoke her voice quivered. "I still can't believe Barning did that. Joe was just devastated. The one thing that means more to him than anything in the world was used against him. Doesn't that man have any conscience at all?" She wiped at her eyes, recalling the zombie-like state Joe had been in by the time they'd gotten back to the hotel.

"No, he doesn't," Frank replied angrily. "But don't worry, Joe will bounce back."

"Are you sure?" Vanessa stopped abruptly and stared at him. "The last time I saw him like that was…" she stopped not even wanting to say the words, "…was when he was in the Campbell Center."

Frank reached out and wiped away the lone tear trailing down her cheek. "I know, Van, but it's not going to happen again. I won't let it. No one is ever going to take my brother away from me like that again," Frank promised her. "No one."

Seeing the uncertainty on her face, Frank tentatively opened his arms, inviting her to let him comfort her. Without hesitation, she accepted, resting her head against his chest, Vanessa closed her eyes and reminded herself Frank was the one who brought Joe back from darkness the last time. She repeated to herself over and over again that if he did it once, he could do it again, and very slowly she began to believe it.

oooOOOooo

Joe heard the voices approaching once again. Glancing back over his shoulder at the clock, he saw that he'd been sitting, staring out the glass doors of the balcony for well over an hour. Hearing the bedroom door open, he sighed regretfully. Time to face the real world again…

"Joe, you're up!" Frank sounded surprised.

"Yeah." Joe tried to force a smile for his brother's sake.

"When did you wake up?"

"A little while ago," he replied vaguely as Frank sat down in the chair next to him.

"How do you feel?" Frank was watching him anxiously.

Joe threw his brother a sidelong glance and wry grin. "Like I was drugged."

"Yeah, well sorry about that, but you needed a good night's sleep." Frank's voice held no remorse.

"Your idea, I suppose?"

"No, actually it was Mom's. But I agreed with her. So did Dad… and Vanessa… and Callie," Frank replied. "So other than that… how do you feel? Are you okay?"

Joe thought about lying, simply wanting everything to go away, but he couldn't even find the energy to do that. "I can't take anymore, Frank," he responded quietly. "I can't."

"You don't have to. It's really over now. No more testifying, no more cross examination, no more closing arguments," Frank reminded him. "All we have to do is wait for the jury to find him guilty."

"Yeah, well what's taking them so long?" Joe turned troubled blue eyes on his brother.

Frank saw the pain and the doubt Joe didn't even attempt to hide. "There were a whole lot of charges lodged against him. They have to reach a decision on each one individually. That's what's taking so long."

Joe stared at his brother for a long moment. With a shake of his head, he looked away. "If you say so," he said, sounding resigned.

Frank sighed inwardly knowing that look. No matter what he said Joe wouldn't believe him; not yet anyway.

"So you ready for something to eat?" he asked changing the subject.

"Nah." Joe shook his head and stared out the wall of glass into the fading afternoon light.

"Oh, come on, Joe. You haven't eaten anything since breakfast yesterday morning. You must be starving," Frank prodded him.

"Well, I'm not, okay?!" Joe said crossly, suddenly starting to feel smothered. "Maybe I'll just go back to sleep…"

Frank quickly recognized the signs of depression Joe had exhibited all those months ago. _'No appetite, wants to sleep all the time… Oh no you don't, little brother.'_

"Uh-uh," Frank shook his head, "not until you have at least a little something to eat. So make up your mind. Where do you want to go for dinner?" Frank asked thinking it would do Joe some good to get out of the suite no matter how badly he wanted to hide from the world.

"Where do I want to go?" Joe repeated suddenly sounding very far away. "Home." He said it so softly Frank almost didn't hear.

Joe sounded so heartbreakingly despondent Frank had to look away for a moment. "I know. So do I. And we _will_ be home soon," Frank responded overcoming the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "For now, how about we just go down to the hotel dining room?" he suggested, now desperate to get Joe out of his self-imposed isolation.

Joe resisted the urge to fling a sarcastic reply at his brother, knowing Frank was just trying to help. "Sure, that sounds fine." He forced a smile as he stood up. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

With that, Joe turned and retreated to the bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned back against it and hung his head. Slowly, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Pulling his knees into his chest, Joe rested his head on his arms, feeling the depression settle deep into his soul.

'_Please, God…help me…'_


	22. Chapter 22

Thank you lexifisher, Phx, Miss Fenway, natedawg and whashaza for the reviews! :-)

For those of you who have been waiting patiently for some 'action', this chapter (the next few chapters, as a matter of fact!) is for you. ;-)

**Chapter 22**

Laura Hardy looked around the table uneasily, her worried gaze finally settling on her husband. Fenton returned the look but shrugged helplessly.

'_This is as good as it's going to get,'_ his eyes seemed to say.

A depressing air had settled over the table almost immediately after they were seated in the hotel dining room. Despite the fact that the maitre d' had made sure they were seated in a secluded corner, no one had spoken much, although they had all taken turns throwing furtive glances at Joe.

Watching her younger son push the food around on his plate, taking pains to make it appear he had actually consumed some of it, Laura smiled sadly. It was the same thing Joe used to do as a child, when he didn't want to eat the vegetables Laura served but also didn't want to hurt his mother's feelings. It was also the same thing he'd done shortly after being released from the Campbell Center…

'_He's depressed, Mom. Who wouldn't be?' _Frank's voice haunted her as she recalled the conversation they'd had less than an hour ago.

The words had sent a chill through her. While the doctors had been impressed with Joe's recovery from the severe depression he'd suffered earlier in the year, Laura was never convinced he had really fully recovered. She had read up on the disease as soon as he'd been diagnosed and knew deep in her heart his turnaround was much too fast given the cause. Watching him now, she feared he was spiraling right back into the darkness and she felt powerless to stop the descent.

…

Joe stared at his plate, appearing to be fascinated by the food remaining there. Turning his wrist slightly, he glanced at his watch and wondered if it was too soon to make a graceful exit and return to the suite – alone. Joe had no doubt about the depth of his family's love and concern for him, but tonight, he felt as if he were suffocating. Deciding that dragging it out wouldn't make it any easier he put down the fork and looked up.

"I think I'm gonna head back up," he announced, preparing for the onslaught of protests.

"I'll come with you," Frank and Vanessa chorused simultaneously.

Another tense moment of silence followed and then Joe started to chuckle. Slowly at first but soon the contagious laughter he was so well known for took over and infected his entire family. "Have you guys been rehearsing that all afternoon?" Joe asked a momentary twinkle lighting his blue eyes as his brother and fiancée blushed in embarrassment. "Listen, I'm okay. Just tired. Those _aspirin_ were pretty potent," he winked at Laura. "Honestly, I'm fine. One more good night's sleep and I'll be good as new," Joe entreated.

While it wasn't completely true, he did feel as though he could see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel now. And he really did want nothing more than to go back to the suite and crawl into bed, not necessarily to wallow in depression but simply to sleep.

Leaning over, Joe kissed Vanessa on the cheek. "Have some dessert before you come up," he ordered as he stood to leave. "I saw strawberry shortcake on the menu – your favorite."

With a wave and a final admonishment not to worry about him, Joe left his family and headed for the elevator.

oooOOOooo

Joe unlocked the door to the suite and slowly made his way to the bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He walked into the room, tossed his keycard on the dresser and flopped facedown on the bed. Burying his head in the pillow, he felt completely and utterly exhausted.

Having to face Keith Rashman every day had taken its toll. At times, the nightmares were worse than the reality had been and he'd gotten very little sleep since arriving in Chicago. Joe reminded himself that the hardest part was over. Once the verdict was in, he could go home and start putting the whole mess behind him for good. With the help of his family, he knew he could do just that – eventually.

Lying on the bed, Joe thought he should at least take his shoes off but he just didn't have the energy. He was already starting to drift off, grateful for the chance to shut out the world again. Tomorrow, he decided, would be different. Tomorrow he'd turn to his brother. Tomorrow he'd ask for help… Tomorrow…

Just as sleep was about to overtake him completely, Joe felt a heavy weight press down on his back. Immediately, Joe tried to push himself up but his arms were pulled out from under him and he fell back down onto the bed. His arms were roughly yanked above his head as an incredibly strong hand held his wrists together, pushing them firmly into the bed, effectively immobilizing him. Joe lifted his head to yell for help but it was slammed back down into the pillow and held firmly in place.

Panic quickly took over as Joe struggled to breathe, unable to take in any air at all. Whoever had attacked him was much bigger and stronger and try as he might, Joe couldn't find any way to escape. Dots danced behind his closed eyelids and he felt himself edging into darkness. Just as he was about to pass out, the pressure eased up. Turning his head to the side, Joe coughed and gasped, taking in huge lungfuls of air. The weight on his back shifted slightly and his wrists were released.

Joe felt a hand on his arm and he was roughly rolled over onto his back. The giant was still straddling him, hovering just above him. As Joe drew in ragged breaths he felt the weight settle onto him again, pinning him to the bed once more. Hands encircled his throat and slowly began to squeeze tighter and tighter.

Frantically, Joe clawed at the fingers around his neck, scratching and pulling and having no effect at all. Reaching up, he raked his fingernails across soft flesh, heard a yelp of pain and was rewarded with a solid punch to the jaw and even more pressure on his throat. Joe attempted a few feeble punches that his attacker didn't even notice. As he was enveloped by the darkness, Joe wondered who exactly was trying to kill him. It wasn't Keith Rashman, Joe was certain. This person was much stronger than Rashman could ever hope to be.

On the verge of unconsciousness, Joe was suddenly dragged from the bed and across the room. He heard a scraping sound, immediately followed by another scraping sound and was hit with a cold blast of air. Coughing and gasping once more, Joe stumbled as he was pulled out on to the balcony. The cool night air helped to revive him somewhat as he felt himself being shoved up against the railing of the penthouse balcony. Pinned in place and unable to move, the strong hand grabbed the back of Joe's neck, pushing his head forward and forcing him to look down at the ground twenty stories below. Terror gripped him as Joe now understood – his assailant intended to throw him to his death.


	23. Chapter 23

As always, thank you so much for the reviews. Now onto a little more action…

**Chapter 23**

Frank looked around the table, his gaze settling on Vanessa as he smiled sheepishly. "Well that was embarrassing."

"At least he knows we love him," Vanessa replied, hoping to salvage at least a little bit of dignity. "Want some?" she offered as the waiter set a large serving of strawberry shortcake in front of her.

Frank looked at the tempting dessert and considered the offer. He wanted to get upstairs and check on his brother despite Joe's orders to the contrary, but the mouthwatering confection proved too enticing "Okay, a few bites…then I'll go check on Joe."

"But he said he wanted to be left alone," Vanessa reminded him.

"And since when has that ever stopped him," Callie teased, as the sound of laughter cleared the air.

oooOOOooo

Joe was violently spun around and for the first time he was able to see his attacker, immediately recognizing the face from the pictures his father had shown him. Joe found himself staring up into the menacing eyes of Craig Rashman. _'NO!' _

"My little brother is _not_ going to rot in prison because of you!" Rashman's voice dripped with hatred.

Once again, Joe felt the hands of steel wrap around his already sore neck and begin squeezing. Rashman leaned hard into Joe, forcing him to bend over backwards. Joe could feel the waist high railing digging into his lower back.

"You see, this is what _real_ brotherly love is all about. Eliminating the problem completely," he said seeming to enjoy the look of pure fear in Joe's eyes. "Not simply pushing it aside for a while, say into a county jail to await trial…like _your_ brother did." Slowly, Rashman increased the pressure on Joe's throat, smiling with pleasure at Joe's now frantic and ineffective attempts to dislodge his hands.

"Your brother should have killed mine when he had the chance. If he did, we wouldn't even be here right now."

'_Frank! Help me! Please, help me!'_ Joe's mind screamed. He panicked as dots started to swim in front of his eyes.

"He had the chance to protect you – to eliminate the problem _permanently_ and he couldn't do it. He _wouldn't_ do it. I would _never_ let someone get away with hurting my little brother like that – **ever**." He increased his grip for emphasis.

Leaning even harder into Joe, Rashman pushed him still further back over the rail and Joe could feel his feet start to leave solid ground.

'_NO! NO! NO! I don't want to die!'_

"I'll do _whatever_ it takes to protect my little brother – at all costs," Rashman snarled practically shaking Joe like a rag doll. "And that means getting rid of you."

'_The trial is over! He could still go to prison even if you kill me!'_ Joe wanted to scream.

"Even your old man couldn't be bothered to protect you. He could have killed me – he should have. Then none of this would have happened." The giant of a man leaned forward staring deep into Joe's eyes. "Prison can't stop us, Hardy, because it's never over until we're _dead_."

Smiling at the stark terror that suddenly appeared on Joe's face, Rashman lifted him up by the throat. Joe practically dangled in his hands, his toes just barely grazing the ground. Letting go with his right hand, Rashman drew back and let fly with a punch, catching Joe square on the chin and sending him flying back over the rail.

oooOOOooo

Frank walked through the lobby using the time to decide exactly how he would approach his younger brother. Inserting his keycard into the slot next to the elevator doors, he automatically looked up at the letters over the doors, patiently waiting as the car descended the twenty floors to the lobby.

The doors finally swooshed open and Frank stepped inside. As the elevator rose, Frank was once again impressed with the smooth ride feeling as if he weren't moving at all. The chime sounded announcing he had arrived at the penthouse. Emerging into the hall, Frank approached the doors to the suite card in hand. Unlocking the doors, he entered the dark suite, finally understanding just how tired Joe must have been; he hadn't even bothered with the lights.

Frank stopped to turn on the lamps on the end tables before continuing down the hall to Joe and Vanessa's room. He quietly opened the door, not wanting to wake Joe if he was already asleep. Stepping inside he heard an unfamiliar voice and wondered who Joe could possibly be talking to.

'_Must be the television,'_ Frank thought noting the absence of light in the room. _'No light… not even from the TV…' _

A cold, hard fear surrounded him as he rushed into the room. He heard the voice again and it occurred to him that Joe was not responding. Running headlong through the sitting area, Frank barreled into the bedroom completely unprepared for what he saw – a giant of a man unleashing a punch on Joe that sent him tumbling off the balcony to the hard concrete twenty stories below!


	24. Chapter 24

Polaris, Nicole, Lexi, TraSan, Miss Fenway, bookworm, MissMe113, Tifal55, asnlfan101, whashaza and natedawg – THANK YOU!

Since I plan to spend all day tomorrow with my family eating, drinking and being thankful, here's the next chapter a day early. (Does this work for you, Miss Fenway? ;-) )

To my fellow Americans - Happy Thanksgiving!! :D

**Chapter 24**

Frank stood frozen in shock and denial, his mind refusing to acknowledge what he had just seen. Unable to move he stared at the giant of a man leaning over the rail, presumably looking at Joe's body on the pavement below. And then he heard it… a laugh followed by mocking words.

"So tell me, Hardy, where is your beloved brother now, when you really need him?"

Rashman's taunting voice was almost music to Frank's ears.

'_Joe's alive!'_ Glancing at the spot Rashman was focused on, Frank saw a pair of hands clinging desperately to the bottom of the railing that encircled the balcony. He allowed himself a brief moment of relief, quickly realizing he had to act fast or Joe really _would_ be lying on the pavement twenty stories below.

…

After Craig had unleashed the punch that sent him flying over the railing, Joe had twisted and turned, his hands frantically grabbing for anything solid. He felt the smooth metal of one of the bars on the railing in his right hand, but hadn't been able to get a good grip and it slipped away. In a final last ditch effort, Joe had blindly lunged out with his left hand and clutched the metal support with a death grip. Slowly his hand slid down, down, down and came crashing to a stop when it made contact with the cement floor at the bottom of the rail, where he now swung precariously from the penthouse balcony.

Despite the adrenaline rush, Joe was already starting to lose his grip. Squeezing his eyes shut, Joe held on for dear life, forcing himself not to look down as Rashman's words echoed in his head and ripped at his heart. Joe prayed this was one of those times Frank ignored his request for solitude, somehow knowing Joe desperately needed him.

'_Please, Frank…where ARE you…'_

…

Still rooted in the same spot, Frank quickly assessed the situation and realized he had to act fast. If he took the time to summon help, Joe would surely slip – or be pushed – to his death before Frank returned. He would have to subdue Craig Rashman and pull his younger brother to safety on his own. Deciding to use the element of surprise to his own advantage, Frank stepped onto the balcony and responded to the heartless question Rashman had posed to Joe.

_"So tell me, Hardy, where is your beloved brother now, when you really need him?"_

"He's right here." With the element of surprise on his side, Frank used his martial arts skills and sheer willpower to drive Rashman back. However, once the momentary shock of a third party wore off, Craig Rashman regrouped and Frank rapidly had to switch gears from offense to defense. It took only seconds for Frank to see he was badly outmatched in both size and strength.

Although none of them hit their mark, a flurry of punches forced Frank to retreat until his back was against the railing. As one punch slipped through his upraised arms and connected with his mouth, Frank's head snapped back painfully.

Taking advantage of Frank's awkward position, Rashman wrapped his hands around Frank's throat and squeezed for all he was worth. He had foolishly toyed with Joe moments earlier, allowing enough time for the cavalry to arrive; it was clear he wasn't about to make the same mistake again.

As Frank felt his air supply dwindle to nothing, his eyes widened in momentary surprise at the brute strength Craig Rashman possessed. As Rashman shifted slightly to readjust his grip on Frank's neck, Frank twisted his head, catching a glimpse of his brother dangling helplessly twenty stories above the street. Watching in horror, he saw Rashman's foot inadvertently slam into Joe's right hand. He heard Joe cry out and instinctively let go of the rail, slipping that much closer to death.

'_NO!'_ Frank's mind screamed. His heart stopped until he saw Joe grab the rail with both hands once more.

As Rashman's hands tightened around his neck, Frank grimly accepted that his original plan – subdue and restrain Craig Rashman until the police arrived – wasn't going to work. Hearing his brother's heavy breathing and occasional grunts of effort to simply hold on, Frank knew he had to end things now.

'_It's him or us…'_

Abandoning his attempts to break free, Frank brought his hands up and clapped Rashman hard on the ears. With a yelp of surprise, Rashman released him, allowing Frank to attack with everything he had. He only hoped it would be enough to save both himself and his brother.

…

From his position, hanging below the floor of the balcony, Joe could see nothing at all of what was going on, but he clearly heard everything. Grunts. Groans. The sound of a fist striking soft, tender flesh. A table was broken into pieces. He heard the sound of breaking glass and a few shards rained down on him.

'_Come on, Frank! You can do it!'_ Joe tried to send his brother some encouragement.

Joe heard a gasp and a cry of pain he immediately recognized as Frank. Instinctively, Joe tried to pull himself up to get to his brother, but he was quickly losing all strength and it took everything he had just to hold on.

Suddenly the struggle was right above him, two bodies fighting for control. A foot slammed into Joe's right hand and with a cry of pain he let go of the rail and felt himself slipping, slipping…

'_Don't look down! Don't do it!'_ Joe admonished himself. Ignoring the increasingly heavy breathing coming from above, Joe concentrated solely on reattaching his right hand to the support column of the railing and holding on for dear life.

'_I don't want to die! I don't want to die!'_

As the fight wore on, Joe knew Frank had to be tiring. Craig Rashman was huge. Bigger than his brother, and for the past several years he'd had plenty of time to work out in the prison gymnasium. Joe realized a long, drawn-out struggle would be to Rashman's advantage. And Joe was weakening; he knew he couldn't hold on much longer, waiting for the fight to end.

Without warning there was the sound of a final angry punch, a strangled cry, and Joe felt the whoosh of air as a body sailed past him over the rail to the street below. Joe felt his heart shatter as the realization hit him – Frank had just plunged to his death.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Thank you so much to MissMe113, bookworm 002, lexifisher, Phx, Tifal55 (I especially loved your reasoning as to why Joe can't let go, even though you're certain Frank isn't dead! :p), Polaris (I laughed out loud at the image of you stamping your foot! :D), daisymall, natedawg and washaza (loved your matter of fact review! :p) for the awesome reviews. I like that you are all unanimous in who it was who went over the railing. ;-)

I was going to say that, in this chapter we find out exactly who that was, and just how long Joe can hold on to that railing but I forgot… we don't. One more chapter to go before we get all the answers. Sorry! But I promise, next chapter for sure – and at the very beginning too!

**Chapter 25**

Finishing his dessert, Fenton Hardy nursed the last of his after-dinner coffee as he gazed around the restaurant. His eyes methodically scanned everyone in the room, his subjects oblivious to the scrutiny they were under. He knew this subconscious habit sometimes annoyed his wife, but after all these years it had become so ingrained he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. Setting the coffee cup back on the table, Fenton reached into his pocket, the vibration of his cell phone alerting him to a call. Checking the display, he frowned at it, puzzled.

"It's Sam," he announced, wondering why his partner, Sam Radley, was calling. They had spoken only three hours earlier. Sam had called Fenton from the airport while waiting to board a flight back to Bayport and brought him up to speed on the case he had just wrapped up.

"Hello, Sam," Fenton answered keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the other diners.

He noticed Laura, Callie and Vanessa watching him as they listened to his half of the conversation.

"Yes, everything's fine." Fenton frowned and then his eyes grew wide at whatever Sam had revealed.

"_What_?!" he whispered harshly, breaking off eye contact with the three women who were now staring at him intently. "When?!" He listened, unable to hide his displeasure at Sam's reply.

"Damn," he muttered, reaching for his wallet. "Yes, don't worry, I will. Thanks. Bye."

"What is it?" Laura demanded the second her husband stopped speaking.

"Where's our waiter?" Fenton looked around in an attempt to avoid answering.

"What did Sam say?" Laura asked more forcefully, drawing a few stares.

Fenton shook his head no. "Upstairs." He signaled their waiter to the table and handed him a credit card.

"Now," Laura insisted, her eyes as hard as her voice.

Fenton sighed recognizing the tone. He had wanted to wait until they were upstairs to share Sam's news, not wanting to upset them if it was unnecessary, but his wife had other ideas.

"Sam's been out of town all week wrapping up a case," he began, looking at the three pair of eyes that were bearing down on him. "He drove by the office tonight on his way home from the airport to check the mail and pick up the messages." Fenton stopped momentarily to sign the receipt the waiter had brought back. Without even realizing it, he took his wife's hand and held it securely before he continued, the gesture increasing the apprehension that now surrounded the table. "Craig Rashman escaped from prison."

Vanessa and Callie both visibly flinched. Never taking her eyes off her husband, Laura reached out for Vanessa who was seated next to her and took the younger girl's hand in hers. "When?"

"Four days ago. Prison officials sent a letter to the office, but since we've been here and Sam's been out of town…" He stopped, and shook his head in frustration. Fenton suddenly pushed his chair back, standing abruptly, and motioned towards the exit. "They know he's heading west. I want to get upstairs and check on the boys."

Fenton followed his wife, Callie and Vanessa through the maze of tables, and reminded himself why he had chosen the penthouse suite in this particular hotel, hoping it would calm his suddenly frayed nerves. He had told his family it was for the privacy and serenity the elegant accommodations offered, which was partially true.

However, the biggest reason he'd decided to stay here was the unprecedented degree of security the suite offered. With only his family and a very few handpicked and well-screened hotel employees having access to that floor, he was comfortable that they were as well protected as they could possibly be. It was almost impossible for any unauthorized person to gain access to their floor. Unfortunately, right now the only word Fenton could focus on was 'almost'.

Finally leaving the restaurant, the group quickly made their way across the lobby, passing the main elevators. Hurrying to the alcove containing the penthouse suite elevator, Fenton slid his card into the opening, recalling the elevator to the lobby. As they waited impatiently, Vanessa glanced around the lobby nervously and caught sight of something that sent a chill through her.

"Mr. Hardy?" she said, the slightest tremor in her voice.

The others turned to look at her as Vanessa pointed to what had caught her eye. Looking in the direction she indicated, a sense of dread encompassed them all.

Pierre Tableau was hurrying towards them accompanied by two hotel security guards and two police officers, all of them looking tense and edgy. Just as they arrived, the elevator doors opened and Vanessa rushed on ahead of the others. Something had happened in the penthouse, that much was clear. Prior experience told Vanessa she would be asked to wait in the lobby until things had been "checked out" and the penthouse was deemed "safe". This time she had no intention of complying, determined to get to Joe as soon as possible.

Following her lead, Callie hurried into the elevator and the two girls instinctively reached for one another, their hands loosely clasped together in a silent gesture of support. By now Frank had to be in the penthouse with Joe, meaning he too was facing whatever unknown danger Joe might have stumbled into.

Laura quickly joined the girls, standing in front of them protectively. Callie smiled inwardly as she saw Laura give Fenton and the others a look that left no doubt she and the girls would be accompanying them to the penthouse. The remainder of the group squeezed on and the elevator began its ascent. Shifting so he could face Fenton, Pierre Tableau explained their sudden and unexpected presence.

"We received a report that indicates someone may have fallen over the railing of one of the penthouse balconies. Three people said there appeared to be a person hanging on to the edge of the balcony. One of them also reported seeing what looked like two people engaged in a fight on the balcony."

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut and squeezed Callie's hand tightly. Pressed so close together in the small elevator, she could feel Callie shaking at the news. Startled by a sudden beep, Vanessa opened her eyes and saw Tableau raising a cell phone to his ear.

"Yes?"

All eyes were on him as the elevator continued to glide upwards. Vast years of experience and training suddenly failed the hotel manager as everyone saw his face pale considerably.

"Can you identify him?" he asked in a slightly strangled voice. "All right. Send them up as soon as they arrive."

Snapping the phone shut he looked directly at Fenton. "Someone either fell, or was pushed off the balcony. His identity can't be confirmed due to the impact."


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: I promise, questions get answered in this chapter! As always, thank you so much for the reviews and thank you to _everyone_ who is reading.

**Chapter 26**

Joe gripped the railing, his forehead pressed against the cement edge of the balcony floor, his eyes burning. The Rashmans had won. Frank was dead. Overcome with grief, Joe wasn't sure he could go on without his brother – wasn't sure he _wanted_ to. Hearing a noise above him, he realized that decision was about to be made for him.

Joe heard Craig Rashman drag himself up, from where he had been lying on the floor of the balcony. He could hear him breathing heavily from the exertion of the long, drawn-out fight with Frank. He felt Rashman lean over the railing and reach down towards him. Joe refused to look up, not wanting to see the face of the man who had killed his brother.

"Give me your hand."

Joe's heart leapt into his throat. It couldn't be! Looking up, Joe found himself staring into his brother's deep brown eyes, currently clouded with worry.

"Joe, give me your hand," Frank repeated. "I'll pull you up."

Still not sure he could really believe what he was seeing, Joe nevertheless reached up with his left hand. When he felt his brother grab on to it securely, he finally allowed himself to exhale with relief. Letting go with his right hand, Joe reached up and clasped his brother's forearm, allowing Frank to slowly pull him up until he could get his feet on the edge of the balcony.

With Frank's help, Joe climbed over the rail and immediately collapsed onto the floor, with Frank crouching down next to him. As Joe looked at his brother, the realization of what had just happened hit him full force. Frank had almost died trying to save him. Joe thought he _had_ died! The strain of the trial, the lack of sleep and thinking Frank had fallen to his death all collided head-on, and Joe began to shake uncontrollably. Pulling his knees into his chest, Joe wrapped his arms around them, hugging himself as the terror of almost losing his brother completely overwhelmed him.

"It's okay, Joe. You're okay," Frank said softly.

Reaching out, he put a hand on Joe's shoulder, trying to comfort him and he felt Joe trembling. Suddenly he heard his father's voice in his head.

_"Don't ever be embarrassed to show your true feelings, Frank."_

Reaching out, Frank wrapped his arm around Joe's shoulders and pulled him close, gently rocking him back and forth. "It's okay, Joe. You're safe now."

oooOOOooo

Vanessa and Callie looked at each other, both fighting back tears. Fenton Hardy said nothing as he slipped an arm around his wife. The air in the small space became thick with tension and fear. Mercifully, the soft chime finally sounded and the doors opened onto the main hall of the penthouse suite.

Instinctively, Fenton held Laura and the girls back as the two police officers scouted the area for any sign of danger. Finding none, they motioned the others off and approached the closed door of the suite. Taking a keycard from Tableau, one of the security guards inserted it into the slot while one of the police officers pushed the door open and entered, quickly followed by his partner. The second Fenton saw them signal the hotel security officers to follow, he barged into the suite right behind them with Laura, Callie and Vanessa bringing up the rear.

"Keep them here!" he barked out, pointing to Laura and the girls.

Fenton raced by the startled officers and down the hall to Joe and Vanessa's room, the fear for his sons threatening to take complete control of him. The instant he had seen Pierre Tableau coming towards them in the lobby with a police escort, Fenton knew that Craig Rashman had somehow gotten himself to Chicago and found out where the Hardy family was staying. Tonight he had gained access to their suite and Fenton was certain there was only one thing on his mind – revenge. Immediately he'd begun to pray for his sons' safety.

Running into the bedroom, his gaze was drawn to the balcony and he came to an immediate stop, oblivious to the two officers who had been right behind him. All he could see was Frank, kneeling on the floor of the balcony, hunched over. He appeared to have his arms wrapped around himself and was slowly rocking back and forth as if grief-stricken.

"Joe!" Fenton cried out hoarsely, the scene before him telling him his youngest child was dead.

He made his way to the balcony but stopped in the doorway, not wanting his worst fears to be confirmed. Hearing the noise, Frank glanced back over his shoulder and saw his father looking absolutely devastated.

"He's all right, Dad."

Fenton slumped against the doorframe in relief for a moment, then rushed forward, kneeling down next to his sons. He finally saw Joe huddled next to his brother, shaking and trembling, but for the most part unhurt.

"Thank you," Fenton whispered a prayer of thanks as he wrapped his arms around his sons and hugged them tightly.

Looking over Frank's shoulder, he saw two officers standing in the bedroom. "Could you please let them know the boys are okay," he requested, not wanting to leave his sons just yet to make the announcement himself.

One of the officers smiled. "Yes, sir. With pleasure."

Fenton reached out and gently tilted Joe's chin upwards, noting the bruises already starting to form on his neck. Looking into Joe's deep blue eyes, his heart momentarily stopped. It was the same look Joe had the night all the memories of Joshua Tilghman had come rushing back to him. The night he had lost Joe to a world of mental anguish, afraid he might never get his son back.

"Joe? Say something. Talk to me…please," Fenton pleaded, his voice breaking.

Joe blinked a few times, looking from his father to Frank and back again.

"Frank..." he whispered. "He almost… I thought… I thought he… _died_."

"But I didn't," Frank quickly reassured. "I'm still here and I'm fine. Just fine."

Now taking a good look at Frank, Fenton saw the blood trickling from a cut on his lip and the swelling that had already begun around his left eye. Further inspection revealed bruised and skinned knuckles and a vivid handprint around his throat. Fenton stared at Frank in amazement as he recalled the immense size and strength Craig Rashman possessed when he'd been sent to prison over five years ago. With nothing else to do while incarcerated, he was sure Rashman had taken full advantage of the gym, further enhancing the muscles that seemed impossible to hide under even the loosest clothing.

"How?" he finally managed to ask, in awe. "How did you do it?"

"Honestly, Dad, I have no idea," Frank admitted. "By all rights he should have been able to kill me with one hand tied behind his back."

Fenton knew it was mostly adrenaline that had given Frank the sudden surge in strength and stamina he needed in order to be victorious over someone so physically powerful. Glancing back at Joe who seemed to be considerably calmer, Fenton smiled to himself. He was just as certain that Frank's self-imposed decree that failure to protect his younger brother was simply not an option, had given him the psychological strength required to ensure both he and Joe would live to fight another day. Fenton had been asked about the strong bond his sons shared more times than he could count, and to this day he still couldn't really explain it. Yet he knew, unequivocally, it was the biggest reason Frank had emerged victorious tonight.


	27. Chapter 27

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I think I replied to all of you; if I missed anyone, I apologize!

A few people have asked about the length of this story. There are thirty one chapters in all, so only five more to go, including this one.

Thank you to everyone who has added this story to their favorites and many thanks to all who are reading.

**Chapter 27**

Frank sat on the couch next to Callie, an ice pack pressed against his face. He watched the police detective seated across from him scan the notes he'd made as Frank gave his statement.

"I think that'll do it for now," the older man said. "I'll call you if I need any more information." Standing, he shook Frank's hand and headed off down the hall in the direction of the sunroom.

Following his progress, Frank saw the door to the room open and caught a glimpse of his younger brother, flanked by Vanessa and Laura as he gave his statement to another officer. Fenton, who had been nervously pacing behind Joe as his younger son related the evening's chilling events, left the room closing the door behind him.

"How is he?" Frank asked anxiously as his father approached.

Callie watched the looks being exchanged between her husband and his father. She couldn't help but smile as they both simultaneously ran a hand through their dark brown hair, seemingly oblivious to the other one's actions.

"He seems to be fine…and that worries me," Fenton admitted. "Given what he's been through in the last twenty-four hours he shouldn't even be able to put together two coherent sentences. Yet he's in there calmly telling a complete stranger how he survived an attempted murder by hanging from a twenty-story balcony." He exhaled loudly in frustration, wondering if Joe really was fine or if he was walking on the edge, about to slip into the overpowering depression that had consumed him earlier in the year.

"Joe's a survivor," Callie reminded them quietly.

Fenton stopped his pacing and stared at her for a moment, smiling ruefully. "That he is." Fenton found himself suddenly overwhelmed with pride at the extraordinary young man his son had grown into. "I guess I need to give him a little more credit. Sometimes I forget he's not my little boy anymore."

"Oh, I think he'll always be your little boy," Callie smiled at her father-in-law.

'_Yes…he will,'_ Fenton thought as the door down the hall opened and Laura emerged, followed by Vanessa, Joe and several police officers.

"I think we're about done here, Mr. Hardy. Let me just go make sure the evidence collection team is finished and we'll be out of your way," the lead detective said and then headed for Joe and Vanessa's bedroom.

"So how did he get in?" Joe asked his father as they waited for the all clear.

"Apparently in addition to working out in the prison gymnasium for the past five years, he also took advantage of their educational opportunities," Fenton replied sourly. "He turned himself into something of an electronics expert."

"He hotwired the elevator," Frank guessed.

"Right." Fenton glanced at his older son and smothered a grin. When Joe returned to the living room, Frank had immediately risen and positioned himself next to his younger brother. As they spoke Frank's eyes continually swept the room, for potential danger, Fenton suspected. _'I wonder if he even knows he does that.'_

"It took less than a minute for him to remove the panel, strip the wires and call the elevator to the lobby," Fenton continued. "When he got to the penthouse, he replaced the wires and panel so as not to alert anyone who tried to use the elevator after him that something was wrong."

"He did the same thing to get in the door up here?" Vanessa asked huddling closer to Joe.

"Mm-hmm." Fenton watched the small group of officers return from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

"All set," the detective announced. "Tableau has some of his people in there cleaning up now. He said they should be done in a few minutes." The man turned to Frank and Joe, "I'm sure I don't have to say it but if you think of anything else…"

"We'll give you a call," Frank replied for himself and his brother as the team of officers bid them goodnight.

oooOOOooo

Despite how tired he was, Joe couldn't seem to fall asleep. Something had been nagging at him all night and he had finally figured out what it was. He sighed quietly and opened his eyes glancing down at Vanessa who was sleeping soundly, her head resting on his chest. Hoping he wouldn't wake her up, Joe unwrapped her arms from around him and gently laid her head on the pillow.

Getting out of bed, he quietly made his way out of the room and down the hall. He heard the muffled voices of his parents coming from the living room and hoped Frank was still awake, too. Stopping at a closed door, he listened intently. Hearing the low drone of a television, Joe gave a tentative knock on the door. A moment later, Frank opened the door.

Frank stood to the side, allowing Joe to walk into the room. "I thought you went to bed a while ago."

"I did. Couldn't sleep." Joe threw a quick glance at the closed bathroom door.

"Callie's taking a shower." Frank tossed the book he'd been reading aside and sat on the edge of the bed. "Something on your mind?"

"Yeah, kind of," Joe replied nervously. He sat down on the bed and faced his brother. Staring at Frank's bruised face, Joe winced.

"Anything I can help you with?" Frank offered, his eyes automatically drawn to the purple handprints on Joe's neck.

Joe absently picked at the bedspread, wondering how in the world he was going to pose this question. He wished the thought had never crossed his mind but it had and now he couldn't get rid of it. Exactly how _did_ Craig Rashman end up going over the balcony railing and plunging to his death? Had he misjudged the distance at some point during his fight with Frank? Had he simply taken one too many swings at Frank and found his momentum carrying him over the railing with no way to stop it? Or had Frank finally found a way to get the revenge he'd been thirsting for, for the last six months?

No matter how badly he wanted it, there was no way Frank could get near Keith Rashman to exact retribution for what he had done to Joe. Craig Rashman, however, had practically offered himself up on a silver platter by willingly engaging Frank in a fight. Joe knew Frank hadn't come to terms with not killing Keith Rashman when he had a chance and a justified reason. The fact that Joe, at times, seemed to be haunted by the man did nothing to ease Frank's guilty conscience. Lying in bed, trying to sleep, it had occurred to Joe that Frank might have taken the opportunity fate had handed him tonight and decided to do the next best thing, and settle the score with Craig Rashman.

"Tonight…when Craig Rashman went over the railing…" Joe began, hoping Frank might take the bait and just tell him exactly what had happened while he had been swinging helplessly from the penthouse balcony, hanging on for dear life.

Frank remained frustratingly silent, staring at Joe, showing no emotion whatsoever. Before Joe realized what had happened, the question came tumbling out of his mouth seemingly without permission, taking him by complete surprise. "Exactly what happened on the balcony tonight?"

…

Frank continued staring at Joe, hiding his own surprise at the unexpected query. He had no doubts that this was going to happen, he just hadn't expected it to be so soon. He assumed Joe was still a little traumatized by the events of this evening and would push the whole horrible incident to the back of his mind, pretending he was fine until he was ready to deal with it.

Frank had honestly thought Joe wouldn't start questioning the circumstances surrounding Craig Rashman's death until after they'd returned to Bayport. Obviously he had miscalculated, but he wasn't prepared to share the ugly details with his brother just yet.

"What happened on the balcony?" Frank repeated, his expression neutral.

Joe nodded and held his breath.

"I protected my little brother…" Frank said, his voice softening, "…at all costs."


	28. Chapter 28

Thank you so much to Tifal 55 (yes, there are more stories in this series), lexifisher, whashaza, surreal epiphany (hope you didn't suffer too badly! ;-) ), Miss Fenway, Phx and MissMe113 for the reviews! :-)

**Chapter 28**

Frank stared at the page in front of him and realized he'd read the same paragraph four times and still had no idea what it said. Ever since Joe had returned to his own bedroom, Frank couldn't get their conversation out of his mind although he wasn't quite sure why. Joe had accepted his purposely vague explanation, apparently sensing it was something Frank wasn't ready to discuss. Yet, he was still left wondering why Joe's question had bothered him so much, when it hit him. It wasn't the question that troubled him – it was his own reply. Rather, the calmness of his own reply.

It just now struck him that he felt no guilt at all over Craig Rashman's death – and _that_ was what really bothered him. Fenton Hardy had always taught his sons that taking a life was wrong and Frank firmly believed his father was right.

'_Or do I…'_

Confused and a little disconcerted at his own seeming lack of remorse, Frank stood and walked out of the room, needing to talk to the one man who could make sense of anything. As he approached the living room Frank slowed, noting the only light in the room came from the soft glow of the television. Fenton Hardy was stretched out on the couch, his head resting in his wife's lap. Laura's head was bowed, close to her husband's. Unable to see exactly what was happening, Frank blushed a little and cleared his throat.

Laura looked up at him and smiled. "Hi, honey."

"Uh, hi, Mom. Sorry to bother you," Frank mumbled, feeling like a child who'd seen something he shouldn't have.

Fenton sat up. "Something on your mind, son?"

"Actually there is," Frank replied, making no move to sit down, his eyes flitting from his mother to his father before going back to his mother again.

Laura looked from Frank to Fenton and grinned.

"Never let it be said I can't take a hint." Leaning close to her husband, she whispered something Frank didn't quite hear and then kissed him.

Standing up, she kissed her son on the cheek and, wishing him goodnight, went into the bedroom and shut the door. Silently Frank motioned to his father to follow as he walked to the sunroom on the other side of the suite. Not wanting to take a chance anyone would overhear them, Frank waited until his father was settled on the couch before he shut the door and then sat on the love seat directly across from Fenton.

"Joe asked me what happened with Rashman tonight," Frank blurted out before he lost his nerve. "He wanted to know exactly how he ended up going over the railing."

"Accidentally," Fenton replied, becoming uneasy at Frank's edginess, "right?" For one brief moment, he wondered if it wasn't quite as accidental as Frank had originally stated.

"Yes, it was." Frank ran a hand through his dark hair. "I mean I didn't go into it intending to kill him."

Fenton studied his son carefully, a little bewildered. He was used to Joe being evasive and beating around the bush when something was bothering him, but Frank usually got right to the point.

"It's normal to feel a little guilty or remorseful when something like this happens, isn't it?" Frank asked, the nervousness still clear in his voice.

"I think anybody who values human life would feel something," Fenton responded, but suddenly sensed that might not be the the best answer. "But everybody reacts differently. There's no law that says you have to feel anything at all," he added quickly.

Immediately Frank averted his eyes, turning to stare out the window into the night. "When I got there and figured out what was going on, my intention was to subdue him, get Joe back on solid ground and call the police. Just like you taught us. Never take the law into your own hands." Frank's voice grew quiet. "I did everything I could. I hit him with a chair… even smashed a glass table over his head. He just brushed it off like it was nothing.

"I don't know exactly when, but at some point I realized my plan wouldn't work. I mean the guy was as big as a house and solid muscle. I finally had to accept there was no way I could overpower him and restrain him by myself. And Joe couldn't hang on forever." Finally, Frank turned back to his father. "It was either us or him. I didn't have any choice."

"Frank, you were fighting for your life – and your brother's. It was self-defense. No one would ever think anything else," Fenton tried to reassure him but got the impression that really wasn't what was troubling him.

"It was. Absolutely. But the thing is – I don't feel guilty. Not at all." A flash of rage appeared in Frank's eyes. "He wanted to kill Joe, but that wasn't enough. He wanted to torment him first.I won't apologize for what I did. If I had to do it all over again I would. After what he and his brother did to Joe…" Frank looked his father in the eyes without regret or apology. "I'm sorry if you're disappointed in me, Dad, but that's the _only_ thing I'm sorry for. I can't feel anything but relief that at least one of them is dead."

Fenton leaned forward, staring intently into the eyes that were so much like his own. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, Joe would be dead right now. You saved your brother's life – against the odds. How could I possibly be disappointed in you for that."

Frank slumped back against the cushions. "I didn't really realize any of this until after the police had left. After the adrenaline rush wore off. I thought I'd feel guilty as hell, but all I felt was… relieved." Frank eyed his father, frowning in concentration. "I don't want to let you down, Dad. Are you sure you're okay with this? Not that I could change it if you weren't."

"I'm not disappointed in you, you haven't let me down and I don't want you to apologize for how you feel." Fenton glanced down at his hands, deciding if he should tell Frank what he was really thinking. Looking up, he stared at his first-born son.

"Truth be told, I feel the same way you do. Had Craig Rashman been captured tonight, he could have been charged and tried for attempted murder. Joe would have had to go through another trial, and for what? Whatever sentence Craig might have gotten would be redundant. He was already going to die in prison. And he's already proven prison can't hold him when he's determined to get out. I don't condone murder under any circumstances but, God forgive me, I can't help but be glad he's dead. At least I know he can't come after Joe again.

"Nothing is ever black and white, Frank. No absolute right and wrong. There are always shades of gray and exceptions to every rule. This was one of the exceptions." Fenton reached out and squeezed Frank's knee. "You've always made me proud. And tonight was no different. Okay?"

Frank nodded. "Okay. I guess I was worried that by not feeling at least a twinge of guilt I'd somehow let you down."

"Not a chance," Fenton smiled.

"Thanks, Dad." Frank frowned in puzzlement. "You know, I don't get it," he mused thoughtfully. "What did Craig Rashman think he'd accomplish by killing Joe now? I mean, aside from feeling as if he got back at you. It wouldn't have changed the outcome of the trial… whatever that will be."

"That's right I didn't tell you," Fenton snapped his fingers. "Truthfully, I hadn't intended to tell Joe, not tonight anyway… I spoke to the warden at Rikers," he continued mentioning the prison where Craig Rashman was supposed to spend the rest of his life. "Apparently, his cellmate knew all about his plans, but wasn't about to say anything in case Rashman ended up back there. He'd be a dead man for talking."

"But since Rashman is dead now…"

"He wouldn't shut up. Told the warden everything in exchange for a positive recommendation at his next parole hearing." Fenton paused to roll his eyes in disgust. "Craig didn't realize how far along the trial had progressed. He thought Joe hadn't testified yet. His plan was to come up here and toss Joe off the balcony, assuming everyone would think he'd committed suicide…"

"That's crazy!" Frank yelled hotly. "Joe would never do that! _Never_!"

"Well, we would probably be the only ones who believed that. Face it, Frank. He _has_ been depressed lately. This trial has taken just about everything out of him. If Rashman had been able to pull it off before Joe testified, when you combine what appears to be suicide with a recurrence of the severe depression Joe suffered earlier this year…" Fenton spread his hands helplessly.

"Barning would have had no trouble twisting all that to get Rashman off," Frank spat out contemptuously.

"Or get a mistrial…a hung jury at the least."

"Joe would be dead and the Rashman brothers would be reunited." Frank shuddered at the dark possibilities that reunion conjured up.

"But you were there, thank God, so those are 'what ifs' we never have to worry about." Fenton smiled proudly at his eldest son as curiosity got the better of him. "So what did you tell him?"

"Tell who?" Frank said, puzzled.

"Joe. When he asked you what happened."

"I told him the truth," Frank replied firmly. "That I protected my little brother – at all costs." Standing up, Frank yawned, stretching his arms overhead. "Night, Dad."


	29. Chapter 29

bookworm002 – Glad you liked the father/son talk. I think Fenton is sorely underused in fanfiction!

Lexifisher – How does half-naked Joe work for you? ;-)

Duckyumbrella – Another vote for the father/son scene! Thank you. Fenton is one of my favorite characters.

Miss Fenway – Thanks! Glad you liked it.

Polaris – ROTFL!! I'm guessing that's the first time Craig Rashman has been called a dipwad! :D If you squint and tilt your head to the right you just might see a happy ending… ;-)

Whashaza – And yet another thumbs up for fathers and sons. Thank you!

Natedawg – Yes, I do love Frank. ;-)

MissMe113 – I was pretty proud of Frank, too!

Phx – If you're reading this – CALL ME!!!! I'm officially worried! :-/

Thank you so much to all who are reading. Only a few more chapters to go!

**Chapter 29**

Lying in bed, Joe stared up at the ceiling. He'd been awake for hours, unable to sleep without being haunted by dreams of falling from the penthouse balcony. He shivered, recalling the one dream where he had looked down during his freefall only to see Frank's lifeless body on the sidewalk below him. Joe swallowed hard at the memory and winced. Reaching up he rubbed his bruised and sore throat, vaguely wondering if the white button-down shirt and tie would cover the purplish hand prints on his neck.

'_Just a dream,'_ he reminded himself. _'Frank is fine.'_

With a sigh, Joe realized he wouldn't be getting anymore sleep this morning. He disentangled himself from Vanessa, being careful not to wake her, and climbed out of bed. Walking to the window, Joe pulled back the curtain a little and saw it had started to snow during the night. The irony was not lost on him as he remembered standing at a hotel window exactly one year ago to the day and watching the snow fall over Central Park. It had been Vanessa's twenty-third birthday. The day she agreed to become his wife. She had told Joe it was the best birthday of her life, thanks to him. He wondered if today would be the worst birthday of her life, thanks to him…

…

As Vanessa began to awaken, she realized that she was alone in the bed. Opening her eyes, she looked around the bedroom, her gaze coming to rest on Joe. He was standing at the glass doors to the balcony, staring out at the city. Lifting her head slightly, Vanessa smiled. Large white snowflakes were falling elegantly from the sky, bringing back vivid memories of her last birthday.

_"I know it's not Christmas Eve but…Vanessa, will you marry me?"_

The feelings of shock, momentary disbelief and utter happiness at Joe's proposal were just as strong this morning as they had been one year ago. Vanessa watched as the snowflakes fell around Joe's silhouette against the glass. While summer was her favorite season, Vanessa also loved the winter months. Each snowfall brought with it a beautiful blanket of white as if it were covering up mistakes of the past and offering a new beginning.

Getting out of bed, Vanessa realized Joe was oblivious to her movements, lost in thoughts she could only guess at, although she had a very good idea what they were. While the events of the previous evening still felt like they had been some surreal dream, she had heard Joe tossing and turning most of the night as he apparently relived the horrifying experience over and over again in his dreams.

Absently sipping from the water glass on the nightstand, she observed him a moment longer before deciding it would be best if she rescued Joe from whatever world he had stumbled into.

Walking up behind him, Vanessa slipped her arms around Joe's waist, pressing herself against him. Turning her head slightly, she rested her cheek against his back, smiling as she felt the tension draining from his body. She snuggled closer as Joe took her hands in his own and pulled her arms tighter around him, like a security blanket.

"Weren't we supposed to be married by now?" Joe asked sadly, revealing the exact reason for his melancholy mood.

When Joe popped the question a year earlier and Vanessa finally replied with an enthusiastic yes, they had quickly agreed that by the same time the following year, they wanted to be married. But then came the New Year and with it Chris Taylor and memories of Joshua Tilghman.

From that point on their streak of bad luck seemed to gain momentum with each passing month, finally landing them back in Chicago to finish out their year of emotional turmoil in the worst possible way – with Joe reliving the most painful twenty-four hours of his life.

…

'_We should be on our honeymoon right now,'_ Joe thought heartsick. _'Instead she got to spend over a week listening to every detail of…'_

Joe squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick to his stomach, wondering if he'd ever be able to remember what Keith Rashman had done to him without feeling queasy. As he felt Vanessa gently turn him around to face her and hold him tightly once more, Joe realized he'd begun to shake.

"Some catch I turned out to be, huh?" Joe cracked, his voice catching in his throat.

"You _are_ a catch, Joe Hardy, and don't you _ever_ forget it!" Vanessa said fiercely. "There are hundreds of women in Bayport who would trade places with me in a heartbeat."

"We should be on some tropical island right now, not here," Joe continued, his eyes burning. "And you shouldn't have had to listen to…everything… It's not fair, Van."

Vanessa pulled back slightly and looked at Joe. Reaching up she brushed away a lone tear that had barely spilled over. While her heart was breaking, she was also thankful that over the years Joe had come to realize he could let out all his fears with her and show his true feelings, knowing she would always keep his darkest secrets just between them.

"You're right, it's not fair. It's not fair what you had to go through, that you almost died," Vanessa agreed, her eyes flashing murderously at the man who made Joe suffer. "It's not fair that you have to relive it again and again." As quickly as it came, the look was gone.

"But, for all intents and purposes, the trial is over. And so is this year – almost. Once it is, we can put it behind us and start over. Pretend this year never happened," she finished, kissing him softly. "By this time next year, we'll be an old married couple… two whole months!"

Joe smiled amazed at how effortlessly she could pull him out of the dark thoughts he sometimes stumbled into. Pulling her close, he tried to focus on her optimistic outlook and positive words. Still, he knew in the back of his mind that some of the scars they had collected this year – both physical and emotional – were permanent.

"Okay, time for your present," Joe said, abruptly releasing her and walking to the closet. He pulled out his suitcase and rummaged around in one of the pockets, emerging with a small box wrapped in gold paper topped with a white bow.

"Present?" Vanessa sounded shocked.

"Well, yeah. Aren't you supposed to give someone a present on their birthday?" Joe said, somewhat puzzled.

"Uh, yeah, but… I mean with everything else going on… I just thought…"

"That I'd forget your birthday? Not a chance, Babe." Joe smiled offering his gift to Vanessa.

"Thank you." Vanessa kissed him on the cheek, accepting the small box and tearing into it with enthusiasm.

Joe watched happily, loving how excited Vanessa got whenever he gave her a present. She always made a big deal out of it regardless of whether it was expensive jewelry, her favorite cookies, or some gag gift he picked up on the spur of the moment. As far as Vanessa was concerned, a gift from Joe was always cause for celebration.

Joe held his breath as she pulled the item from its velvet bed. The gold bracelet studded with diamond hearts and one small charm – a key – sparkled as Vanessa held it up in awe.

Overwhelmed that Joe even remembered her birthday, let alone thought to buy her a gift and bring it along, there was a long silence as Vanessa fought to get control of her emotions.

"It's the key to my heart," Joe blurted out, immediately flushing with embarrassment. _'The key to my heart?! Geez, Hardy how cheesy can you get?!'_

He watched nervously as Vanessa stared at the bracelet speechless. "Uh, if you don't like it we can always return it and get something else…" Joe mumbled, misinterpreting her silence.

"Don't like it?!" Vanessa whispered still mesmerized by the obviously expensive piece of jewelry. "Joe, it's beautiful! I love it! Will you put it on me?" she begged extending her arm.

Joe willingly obliged, basking in the happy glow on Vanessa's face. "When we get home I'm gonna throw you the wildest birthday bash Bayport has ever seen," Joe promised. Pulling her close, he sealed it with a kiss.

oooOOOooo

"Here's one more," Callie said handing yet another pink balloon to her husband, who was standing on a chair in the middle of the dining room. "Hurry up!" she encouraged, glancing over her shoulder. "They might come out any minute!"

Frank finished attaching the last of the balloons to the ceiling and jumped off the chair to survey his handiwork. The dining room was awash in pink balloons, white streamers and a large banner that read "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VANESSA!" The coffee table, which had been dragged in from the living room, was piled high with presents.

"What do you think?" he asked critically. "More streamers, maybe?"

"No, it's perfect just as it is," Laura Hardy said coming in from the kitchen with Fenton right behind her.

"You two did a great job." Fenton smiled approvingly.

As the four stood looking at the fruits of their labor, Fenton's cell phone chirped.

"Who could it be at this time of morning?" Laura asked annoyed, not wanting Vanessa's surprise party to be spoiled. The look of annoyance turned to one of concern as she saw her husband frown at the number displayed on the phone.

"Fenton Hardy," he answered. "Really? Okay, what time? Right, we'll be there. Thank you. Goodbye." He turned to Laura, Callie and Frank a mixture of relief and wariness in his eyes. "The jury reached a verdict. We have to be at the courthouse by ten." Before anyone could comment, a door was heard opening down the hall.

"Get ready! They're coming!" Frank whispered excitedly.

Seconds later Joe and Vanessa, arms wrapped around each other, emerged from the hallway.

"SURPRISE!"

Laura, Fenton, Frank and Callie stood beaming as Joe and Vanessa stared back at them in complete shock. They gaped at the decorations, presents and table set with breakfast fit for a princess in open-mouthed amazement. Joe recovered first and nudged Vanessa further into the room. Snapping out of her daze, she turned and looked at him.

"Did you know about this?" she asked, still glancing around astounded.

"Uh-uh," Joe replied. "I'm just as surprised as you are."

"Happy birthday, honey." Laura held her arms out to the younger girl. "I wish your Mom could be here. But she's going to call later."

Vanessa immediately stepped into the warm embrace of the woman she'd come to love as a second mother. "Thank you so much," she whispered her voice shaking as she was once again overcome with emotion.

"No thanks necessary." Laura patted her back comfortingly.

Joe smiled at his mother mouthing a _'Thank you'_ as he approached Callie.

"C'mere," he said hoarsely, pulling her into a bear hug. "I know this was all your idea," he whispered in her ear. "Thanks, sis."

"You're welcome." She returned the hug, winking at Frank over his shoulder.

Joe held onto his sister-in-law a moment longer, thinking how far they had come over the years. Releasing her, he eyed the table full of food. "Okay, enough with the mush. Let's eat!"

A chorus of laughter and agreement echoed through the room as the group moved towards the table. Immediately Callie noticed the sparkling diamond bracelet dangling from Vanessa's wrist.

"Wow!" she exclaimed wide-eyed.

"Isn't it gorgeous," Vanessa extended her arm so Callie could get a better look at her gift. As Callie oohed and aahed over it, Vanessa crooked a finger motioning Joe close to her.

"What?" he asked puzzled.

Leaning towards him, Vanessa pressed her lips to his letting them linger there for a long moment before pulling away. "Nothing," she replied with a smile and a provocative twinkle in her eye causing Joe to blush.

"Isn't that a beautiful bracelet, Frank," Callie said, raising her eyebrows suggestively as she held her own unadorned wrist aloft.

"Very beautiful," Frank agreed. "Maybe Joe will buy you one just like it for Christmas," he deadpanned, laughing as Joe's eyes almost popped out of his head. Frank had spent the past four months accompanying Joe to the jewelry store each week so he could make payments on the pricey piece of jewelry.

Fenton waited until everyone was settled and the laughing had died down and then cleared his throat. "I hate to put a damper on your party, Vanessa, but Handling called a few minutes ago. The jury has reached a verdict." Seeing the dejected look on the faces of Joe and Vanessa he continued quickly. "We have plenty of time for a nice birthday breakfast but I'm afraid we'll have to save the presents for later. Then again, that just means we'll have two things to celebrate when we get back," he finished letting them all know he fully expected Keith Rashman to be found guilty on all counts.

As plates of food were passed around, Laura disappeared into the kitchen returning a moment later carrying a Belgian waffle smothered in strawberries and whipped cream, a single candle sticking out of it. She placed it in front of Vanessa. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

Vanessa sat looking at everyone seated around the table, touched and overwhelmed by all the attention. She had barely even remembered today was her birthday and was certain that, with the exception of Joe, no one else would even give it a second thought. There were too many other things that were more important; her birthday could wait until they got home.

"Now don't forget to make a wish," Laura smiled as she lit the candle.

Glancing at Joe, Vanessa squeezed his hand tightly as she closed her eyes and made her wish – that before this day was over, she would hear one word uttered over and over again. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Pursing her lips, she blew out the candle and sat back, praying that her wish would be granted.


	30. Chapter 30

Thank you so much to all who reviewed the last chapter! I think I replied to everyone. If I missed someone, I'm very sorry!

Only two chapters left…

**Chapter 30**

Frank wandered out of the bedroom dressed and ready to go. Deciding that the beauty of Lake Michigan would be a nice calming influence before leaving for the courthouse, he walked to the sunroom, stopping abruptly in the doorway. His younger brother was pacing the room like a caged animal apparently caught up in some very disturbing thoughts. "Joe?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I didn't hear you come in." Joe stopped long enough to acknowledge Frank's presence and then resumed his pacing.

Frank quickly crossed the room and grabbed Joe's arm, concerned at his sudden mood change. Even taking into consideration Joe would be a little worried about the verdicts, he was still way too wound up for Frank's liking.

"Joe, stop," Frank said in a comforting but no-nonsense tone. "Tell me what's wrong."

Joe tried to pull his arm away. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm just nervous, that's all."

Frank decided a little tough love was the best answer. "Bull. Now, what's going on."

"I just told you, nothing's wrong!" Joe snapped, his voice rising. Pulling his arm away, Joe resumed the frenzied walking from one end of the room to the other.

"Are you worried about the verdict?"

Joe stopped mid-stride and Frank assumed he'd hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Rashman will be found guilty. He'll go to prison and you'll never have to worry about him again. It'll be over," Frank told him, hoping to dispel Joe's obvious fears to the contrary.

"Will it?" There was a note of anxiety in Joe's voice.

By conrtast, Frank's voice was confident. "Yes. It will."

Joe looked at his brother a moment longer before turning away.

"Unless you know something I don't," Frank said, getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Joe didn't reply. Instead, he walked to the balcony doors and stood staring through the glass at the morning commuters slowly making their way to work.

"He said prison wouldn't stop them," Joe said quietly.

"Who said?" Frank asked, walking over to stand behind his brother.

"Craig Rashman. He said it's never over. Not until they're dead. And Keith Rashman is still alive," Joe told his brother, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

Frank closed his eyes, thankful Joe's back was to him. He knew the anger and hatred he felt for Rashman was clearly visible on his face. As he had so many times in the past six months, Frank questioned why he hadn't killed Keith Rashman when he had the opportunity and a justified reason. Taking a moment to calm himself, Frank put a hand on Joe's shoulder and squeezed, reminding Joe that he was not alone.

"He was just trying to scare you, Joe."

Joe turned and looked at his older brother. "It worked," he whispered.

In that instant, Joe ceased to be the cocky young man who had no fear and could easily fight his way out of any situation. Suddenly he became the scared little boy who crawled into his big brother's bed in the middle of the night, seeking protection from the monsters that came calling. At that moment, Frank knew he would never forgive himself for not slaying this particular monster when he had the chance.

"You don't have to worry about him anymore," Frank tried to reassure him. "He'll never get near you again; not as long as I'm alive." He felt Joe flinch and wondered what in the world could have Joe so jumpy. He waited patiently, knowing if he did Joe would eventually reveal what was really troubling him.

When Joe finally spoke, there was a quiet fear in his voice. "I'm not worried about me, Frank. I'm worried about you."

"Me? Why?" Frank asked stunned.

"As far as Keith Rashman is concerned, you murdered his brother. I know how I'd feel if I thought someone had purposely killed you. I wouldn't stop until…" Joe snapped his mouth shut, unable to put his biggest fear into words. _'What if he kills __you__?'_ Joe thought terrified, certain if he spoke the words aloud, they would become fact. Logically he knew that was totally irrational, but his heart wouldn't let him take that chance. "He'll be obsessed with getting even, Frank. Getting even with you."

Frank sighed as understanding dawned on him. He knew exactly what Joe was thinking but was too afraid to say. "Joe, the chances of that happening are about one in a billion. Probably more."

"Prison won't stop him, Frank!" Joe said, his voice rising slightly. "It didn't stop Craig and it won't stop him. Keith Rashman won't rest until one of you is dead!"

Frank's heart broke just a little as the terror in Joe's blue eyes jumped out at him. "Well, I can promise you one thing – it won't be me who ends up six feet under," he said confidently.

"How can you be so sure?" Joe asked, fear permeating every word.

"Because you're giving him way too much credit. Yes, he'll hold me responsible for his brother's death and he'll probably want to get even with me," Frank acknowledged, "but it will never happen." Joe immediately started to protest but Frank held up a hand, silencing him. "Just hear me out, okay?"

Joe looked at his brother warily, eventually nodding his consent.

"Once Rashman is convicted – and he _will_ be convicted – he'll go straight to prison. Maximum security. Before he even gets there the FBI, the D.A., the local police, even Dad will make sure prison officials know every single detail of this case by heart. From Dad's initial investigation of Craig Rashman to what happened last night." Frank looked at his brother earnestly. "Joe, Keith Rashman will be watched so carefully he won't be able to blink without prison officials knowing about it. Add to that the fact that once he's been convicted, his employer will want to have nothing to do with him and his personal vendetta."

Frank ticked off the points on his fingers. "He's in maximum security prison, being watched twenty-four hours a day by guards who know the only thing he's living for is revenge against our family. That right there makes his chances of escape pretty close to impossible. When the syndicate he worked for makes it known they want as much distance as possible between him and them, the other inmates will have nothing to do with him. Now he's isolated and alone to boot. I could go on and on, Joe," Frank said shaking his head, "but the bottom line is once he's transferred to prison it will be virtually impossible for him to plan and pull off an escape, let alone any kind of attack on me."

Joe looked at his brother skeptically, having experienced first hand Keith Rashman's single-minded resolve to do anything to get what he wanted.

"On the one in a billion chance he did somehow manage to escape, we'd be notified before he even made it off prison grounds," Frank concluded. "Joe, I have a better chance of winning the lottery and being struck by lightning than I do of being killed by Keith Rashman."

Joe thought about everything Frank said for a few moments and then gave his brother half a scowl, still not entirely convinced. "A one in a billion chance is still a chance," he muttered.

Frank couldn't hide a smile, noting the fear in Joe's troubled blue eyes had lessened considerably. "True, but I'm always careful. And I've got you watching my back."

"Damn straight!" Joe said vehemently.

Frank grinned at the tone in Joe's voice as if he were challenging anyone to take pot shots at his brother.

"You really do believe everything you just said, right?" Joe asked. "I mean you weren't just telling me what you thought I wanted to hear, were you? You know, to make sure I got through this morning without spontaneously combusting or something?"

"Hmm… I may have to think about that. Watching you spontaneously combust sounds pretty entertaining." Frank smiled and headed towards the door. If Joe were reverting to wisecracks, it meant Frank had been able to get through to him and, for the most part, allay his fears.

"You should be so lucky," Joe retorted in mock-disgust brushing past his brother.

Upon reaching the door, Joe opened it but paused before walking through. "Thanks," he said without turning around and then quickly disappeared down the hall.

Frank noted the gratitude in Joe's voice and his easy relaxed body language; a welcome change from the fearful words and frenzied pacing of a few moments earlier.

"You're welcome," Frank replied to the now empty room closing the door behind him as he left.


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N:**__ Well, good news/bad news. When I said at the beginning of the last chapter that there were two chapters left, that was __including__ the last chapter! LOL! Which makes __this__ the final chapter._

_I cannot give enough thanks to Phx, TraSan, Polaris, Miss Fenway, MissMe113, Helen, SurrealEpiphany, Natedawg, whashaza, bookworm002, lexifisher, Duckyumbrella, Tifal55, nicoleylewis, jillynn1975, daisymall13, asnlfan101, emachinescat, Cheryl, KatSol (um… where's your next chapter????), catti-dono, josie and tiger lily roar for your supportive, encouraging and downright funny comments throughout this story. There were times you all had me laughing out loud. :D THANK YOU!!_

_For those who asked, yes I do have another story to follow this one. And for those who asked, no it does not involve Keith Rashman going after Frank. :p Sorry! LOL! It __is__ the next story in this series but we are moving on… for now, anyway. ;-)_

_Again thank you SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed as well as everyone who put this story on their favorites and/or story alerts and to __everyone__ who read it. I hope you all enjoyed it! _

_I'd like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas (or Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Winter Solstice or Happy whatever holiday you enjoy celebrating!) and a very, VERY Happy New Year!_

**Chapter 31**

Sitting in the courtroom waiting for Keith Rashman to arrive, Frank felt the tension grow with each passing minute. It had occurred to him on the drive over that if Rashman had already been informed of his brother's death and held Frank responsible, his best chance for revenge would be right here in the courtroom. Frank was absolutely certain Rashman would be found guilty today and immediately transported to the federal penitentiary. Once there, his chances of escape would be slim and none.

As the door at the back corner of the room opened, Frank felt as if his every nerve was open and exposed. He kept his eyes glued to Keith Rashman and the armed guards who flanked him, looking for anything that could be considered even remotely suspicious. Just when he thought he would snap, Frank caught the smirk Rashman threw at him.

Once Rashman knew Frank had seen him, he turned his hateful glare on Joe as he had every day since the beginning of the trial. For the first time and only time, Frank was thrilled to see Rashman looking at Joe with the same unabashed hatred.

'_He doesn't know. They haven't told him yet.'_ Frank let out an audible sigh of relief.

The simple fact that Keith Rashman had the same cocky attitude he'd displayed since day one told Frank he had no idea his brother was even dead, let alone the circumstances surrounding it. Frank raised his eyes upwards. _'Thank you.'_

Feeling some of the tension drain away, Frank watched as the jurors filed into the room looking decidedly impassive and then stood as the judge entered the courtroom. Seeing Joe fidgeting nervously, Frank gave him a quick, comforting pat on the back as they sat down again.

'_Only a few more minutes, bro,'_ Frank thought, wishing Joe could read his mind, _'then you can start putting this whole thing behind you.'_

Quickly dispensing with the opening formalities of declaring court now in session, the judge asked the foreman of the jury if they'd reached a verdict. Getting an affirmative response, the bailiff retrieved a piece of paper from the foreman and handed it to the judge. After reading the verdicts to himself the judge returned the paper to the foreman, requesting he officially announce the verdicts.

"On the count of carrying a concealed weapon, we the jury find the defendant, Keith Richard Rashman, guilty as charged."

Joe closed his eyes, surprised to find he was shaking. _'Please, please let them all be guilty.'_

"On the charge of terroristic threatening," the foreman continued, "we find the defendant guilty as charged."

Joe allowed himself a small measure of hope.

"On the charge of aggravated assault, we find the defendant guilty as charged."

And so it went – kidnapping, assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder – with the jury concluding that Keith Rashman was guilty on every single count. By the time the foreman had finished reading off the litany of charges and verdicts, Vanessa, Laura and Callie were crying tears of joy and relief. Joe finally allowed himself to believe the man who had haunted his dreams for the past six months might finally be put to rest. Even Fenton Hardy found himself wiping away a tear. Only Frank noticed the absolute hatred Rashman had displayed for Joe from the outset of the trial had grown immeasurably.

As the judge declared the trial over and entered his chambers, Joe felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Stepping out into the aisle next to Vanessa, he stopped to wait for Frank, Callie and his parents. Looking up, Joe found himself staring into the cold, hard eyes of Keith Rashman. He shivered involuntarily hoping Rashman didn't see it, when Joe's vision of the man who almost tortured him to death was suddenly obscured.

…

Seeing the silent exchange between Rashman and Joe, Frank had stepped in front of his younger brother completely blocking him from Rashman's line of sight. Frank stared at the man who tried to murder his only brother. The symbolic message he sent was not lost on Rashman.

_If you want my brother, you have to go through me first... _

Almost imperceptibly Rashman nodded, a tight smile gracing his lips.

_I accept your challenge..._

Frank never moved, waiting until Rashman had been escorted from the courtroom before he stepped out of the way, satisfied that Joe never saw the hatred that had been directed squarely at him. Turning around, Frank draped one arm around Joe and the other around Vanessa. Slowly he looked first as his father, then his mother and finally Callie.

"Shall we go?" he said with a smile. "I believe we still have a birthday to celebrate!"

THE END


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